Sandor and the Wolf
by celticwanderer
Summary: Sansa Stark is a prisoner in King's Landing with no friends and no way out. After a riot in the streets, an unlikely hero saves her. Sandor Clegane. With a towering presence and a face full of twisted scars, the Hound soon becomes the one person that makes her feel safe in the castle that once seemed so grand but now serves as her own personal hell.
1. Chapter 1

Sansa stared blankly at her reflection in the ornate vanity in front of her, gold lions engraved in the frame she once thought beautiful. Her auburn curls had come out of the Southern style her handmaiden had perfected early that morning and hung messily around her face and down her back. The dusty pink gown that was given to her by Joffrey, as it was tight around the bust, was now covered in blood and ripped along the collar and sleeves. She looked down at her hands and observed the dirt under her finger nails. Memories of her pale hands on the ground trying to get away brought more tears to her eyes and her vision became blurry.

_How many more tears could I possibly have? _Sansa thought. _How many times have I sat in this room, this golden prison__,__ and cried? For the loss of father. For the comforting hands of mother. For the loss of sweet Bran and Rickon. Even Arya... _She didn't know which was worse, knowing someone to be dead for certain, or not knowing and wondering if they're still alive.

A muffled knock forced her out of her thoughts and four hand maidens entered her chamber carrying a bath. They carefully set it down by the large window, not a drop wasted on the floor. Sansa looked over and became hypnotized by the steam emerging from the bath's surface, envious of the way it vanished into thin air.

The maidens stood there, waiting, unsure of what to do. With a small cough one of them spoke.

"If m'lady is ready," Gwendoline, a thin, mousy girl quietly said. Although her voice was barely above a whisper, it was so loud to Sansa she felt as though her ear drums would burst. Her blue eyes darted toward Gwendoline who looked down in fear. _So this is how Cersei feels, _Sansa thought._ No, I do not wish for anyone to fear me. _Sansa let out a small smile and stood.

"Thank you." Her voiced cracked, having not spoken since that morning. Gwendoline's face relaxed. "I will be fine on my own. Please leave me," Sansa breathed.

"But, m'lady, we were sent to help you undress and wash," another hand maiden blurted out. She was an older, plump woman with stiff black curls that grayed at the roots.

"Surely I am capable of washing myself. I thank you but have no need of you at this time. I wish to be alone," Sansa said with forced confidence. They wouldn't leave her if she had a hint of sadness in her voice. The maidens stood there for a moment's time, still unsure, but slowly one by one they left the room. The last one closed Sansa's chamber door behind her.

Sansa reached behind her and found the strings at the back of the dress. Southern gowns were much finer than ones worn in Winterfell. It was much colder there, and while the gowns were still beautiful, they were much simpler and more practical. Southern gowns were often encrusted with gems, metals, and thin fabrics to show off a woman's figure. Margaery Tyrell enjoyed that style. Luckily since today was not a happy occasion, but a farewell on the beach for Cersei's only daughter sent off to Dorne, it did not call for the highest of fashions and Sansa was allowed to wear a simple gown. Southern styles were impossible to take off by oneself. This one was not. The holes and tears in the fabric only made it easier. Once the back was undone, Sansa let the ruined dress fall to the floor. She let out a breath, the memories that came with the dress fell to the floor, never to be picked up again. She stared at herself in the vanity, which was now clouded with steam. Wearing nothing but her small clothes, her reflection looked different. It was as if she hadn't seen herself in years, for she no longer saw a girl, but a woman.

Still embarrassed of her body, Sansa turned away from the mirror, stepped out of her small clothes and walked towards the wooden tub. She sat on the edge letting her pale legs get used to the warmth. Slowly, she slid in. Once the water reached her neck, she took a deep breath and submerged.

All was quiet. All was peaceful.

She came back up and inhaled deeply. The doors to her balcony were open and sent a cold breeze over her flushed cheeks, now red from the hot water. She relaxed and laid the back of her head on the edge of the tub. She closed her eyes and decided she needed a few moments to relax before scrubbing herself of the memories... But it only made it worse. All she could see were the people screaming. Dizziness from running, not knowing her way. The feeling of wet hay underneath her feet as she ran. The smell of mud and ale lingering in the air. And the men... the three men that chased her down the narrow alley way and into that room. No way out. They looked at her with such hatred in their eyes. The kind of hatred she had for her betrothed, Joffrey. She had done nothing to these men and yet they despised her so.

Another cold wind painted her face and she looked out the window. The sun was beginning to set. The last moments of sunshine in Kings Landing were a wasted beauty. _How long have I been sitting here? _Sansa wondered. A fear grew in her stomach. _Oh gods, I cannot be late for dinner._ Her imagination took her to the dining halls of the castle. An empty seat next to Joffrey reserved for her. Cersei's eyes glaring at her for her tardiness. An amused expression on Joffrey's face with plans of yet another punishment for her. Sansa shook her head, trying to rid herself of these thoughts. She took the pink wash cloth and bar of lavender scented soap set neatly on the chair beside the tub and began scrubbing. What started out as a normal scrub turned into a soapy frenzy. The dirt was gone from her body and hair but she continued scrubbing until her skin was raw. With one final rinse, Sansa stood up in the tub and took the white silk robe from the chair, wrapping it around herself as she stepped out.

Wet footprints followed her to her wardrobe. Her slim fingers caressed all the pretty colors and fabrics. _So beautiful. _But she did not want to look beautiful tonight. She did not want any eyes on her. An impossible dream. She was the daughter of a traitor, a prisoner to the lions. The wolf bitch. She settled on an emerald green, simple gown. Lace outlined the edges of the collar, sleeves, and bottom hem. When her hand maidens reentered her chambers, Sansa sat in front of her vanity and asked for a simple style, two small braids going around her head. A style more common in the North. She smiled at herself, looking more like the girl she once knew in Winterfell, her true home.

"Perfect," a voice cooed from the chamber doors. The room became tense. Sansa's hand maidens bowed as Cersei floated in. Sansa's heart was beating fast, but she remained composed.

"Thank you, Your Grace, though not as beautiful as you," Sansa chirped her courtesies. Cersei smirked and looked at Sansa through the mirror, her eyes red from bidding her daughter farewell that very morning. A glass of red wine in her delicate fingers swung with every step she took. Cersei kissed the back of Sansa's head and fingered her curls. The smell of the sweet wine imported from the Summer Iles overwhelmed Sansa's nostrils.

"Pretty dove. I wasn't sure if you'd be able to make it to dinner tonight. You must be terribly embarrassed." Cersei's face was full of false pity. "Almost getting your maidenhood taken before you marry. How awful that would have been."

"Yes, Your Grace. Thank the gods I was found before any harm was done," Sansa quietly said with a controlled tone.

"Oh, yes. Thank the gods. Funny. Was it the gods who saved you, or someone else?" Cersei stared at Sansa quizzically.

_The Hound! _How could she have forgotten? All she could think about was the faces of her attackers. She had completely forgotten about the man who saved her. She hadn't even sought him out to thank him properly. A blush crept its way along her neck.

"Why do you blush, girl? Did you enjoy it?" Cersei mocked and took another sip of her wine.

"I blush because this gown itches. You are right, I should not thank the gods when it was not them who saved me," Sansa said, more to herself than Cersei.

"Yes, next time be more appreciative of your savior when he's meant to be looking after our Joff," Cersei threatened whilst touching the shoulder of Sansa's gown. "And more appreciative of your hosts when they give you the most beautiful fashions to wear and you continue to dress in these clothes fit for a little girl." Cersei made her way to Sansa's wardrobe. Sansa stood up from her chair and watched as Cersei looked through the dresses and chose one of blue and gold. Gold flowers danced along the sapphire fabric. The sleeves were long and fitted. Sansa thought the dress to be lovely, except the neckline was revealing, and she knew all eyes-Joffrey's eyes-would be on her tonight.

"Girl!" Cersei shoved the dress into Gwendoline's arms and waltzed over to Sansa. "See to it that the little dove puts that dress on tonight." Cersei ran her hands through Sansa's hair once more. "And fix her hair as well." Cersei looked Sansa up and down before leaving her chamber, three guards following her.

As soon as the doors shut, a breath of relief washed over all ladies left in the room. Sansa sat back down and stared at herself in the mirror once more before being transformed into a Southern lady.

The light outside had gone for the night as Sansa emerged from her room. Her hair now stood on top of her head in a bouquet of red braids, and two smaller braids went down her chest. As she began walking down the halls and turned the first corner, Ser Meryn Trant leaned against a wall.

"I was wondering what was taking you so long," he rasped, eyeing her heaving chest. "Now I see why." He looked at her hungrily. Fear boiled in Sansa's blood. She always felt uneasy around this man, but remembered she was a highborn lady and must never forget herself.

"Are you here to escort me to dinner, Ser?" she asked as dryly as she could.

"Yes, m'lady." He licked his lips and took his place beside her, holding out his arm. Sansa took it. He smelled of ale and something else awful. His arm felt like a snake as they made their way down the candle lit hall.

"That's some dress you have there, m'lady," Ser Meryn slurred.

"Thank you, Ser, your words are most kind." Sansa tried to swallow her repulsion and quickened her pace, hoping to reach the dining hall soon.

"I heard what happened to you today. I'm sorry I couldn't have been there...to help," he sneered. He tried to mask his desires with sympathy.

"You need not worry Ser, for no harm was done. I do thank you for your concerns," Sansa lied. It made her sick how easy it was for her to lie now. She had learned well. As they walked, the sounds of talking and laughter became louder. _Thank the gods, _Sansa thought. _We're almost there. _Suddenly, the room spun and her back was against the wall. Ser Meryn held her arm tight.

"Don't you lie to me girl!" he snarled in her ear.

"You forget yourself, Ser!" Sansa trembled under his grip. The unmistakable sound of Joffrey's snicker was heard in the distance and he released her.

The guards opened the massive carved doors to the dining hall. Warm candle light hit her face and aromas of meats and sweet lemon cakes, her favorites, enveloped her. Ser Meryn eased his grasp on her arm. Even a man as vicious as he wouldn't risk upsetting the boy she was to marry.

Sansa tried to regain her composure after the incident in the halls, tried easing her breath by singing the story of Florian and Jonquil in her head as she walked to her seat.

She bowed as she passed Cersei, who gave her appearance a nod of approval, easing her jumping heart. She took her seat next to Joffrey who was throwing meat at the sweaty fool that danced before him. _Poor man._

Once seated and settled, a full plate was set before Sansa, but her appetite was spoiled from the day.

"Is my lady not hungry?" Joffrey asked.

Sansa immediately took a small bite of the sweet meat on her plate. "My apologies, my lord, the food is delicious." She took another bite, hoping to avoid an outburst that ended with her in tears. She laughed at the fool as he juggled cakes, one landing on his face. Joffrey watched her laugh for awhile, and once he was pleased, he looked away, back to gossiping with his mother the Queen.

She wondered how it was possible that all these people were laughing and enjoying themselves surrounded by a grand feast when just hours ago people were rioting in the streets for scraps of bread to feed families. Another pie fell on the fool's face and this time Sansa could not even pretend to laugh for it disturbed her so. Food wasted for Joffrey's amusement. She looked about the room. Watching. Observing. Cersei poured herself another glass of wine and looked straight ahead miserably, as one does when they're at a party and the only person they want to be there, isn't. Tyrion also sat at their table, picking at his food and suppressing a smile. Sansa looked in the direction of his eye line and saw a raven haired foreign beauty dressed in hand maiden's attire smiling back at him.

She watched as men talked of battles and reenacted fights. She saw ladies giggle and whisper quietly about which lords and knights they found most attractive. She saw Ser Meryn Trant smack a servant's bottom as she passed, almost making her spill the empty glasses on her tray. And then she saw him. She wasn't sure if hit was the wine she had been sipping, enjoying the taste more and more, but she could have sworn that when her blue eyes met his grey ones, he quickly looked away. _Was the Hound staring at me?_ Now avoiding her gaze she was able to stare freely at him. His head was turned. She stared at the unburned side of his face. He had the features of a Northern man. A strong jaw, dark hair, and a prominent nose. Seeing just this side of his face was odd. He looked almost calm, unlike the usual scowl he wore whenever she was present. _Maybe he wasn't always so angry...maybe it was just the way to burns disfigured his face. _She remembered when she first laid eyes on the Hound. He looked a fierce warrior as he stood in the background watching his brother Gregor joust. Littlefinger had told her the sad tale of the Clegane brothers. How the Hound had earned his burns by playing with his brother's toys. Sansa remembered the fights she had with her brothers, but mostly Arya. She could never imagine Rob, Jon, Bran or Rickon doing that to her. Not even Arya, as angry as she sometimes was.

_CLINCK CLINCK__._The sound of Joffrey's knife tapping his goblet silenced the room. All eyes were now on him. "Today, we sent my beloved sister off to Dorne. There were tears, but I don't think it to be a sad day." Sansa glanced at Cersei. She was staring at her son with a proud grin, but her hand gripped the stem of her glass with tight anxiousness. "I think this to be a day to celebrate!" Joffrey continued. "For there is now a Baratheon in Dorne! One day there shall be a Baratheon in every realm of the Seven Kingdoms!" Joffrey raised his goblet, and all the noble guests followed suit. "To Myrcella!"

"To Myrcella!" the room chanted. Everyone drank to the golden haired beauty. People started sitting down, thinking the speech was over.

"And now," Joffey continued, "in honor of her, I ask my betrothed for a dance."

Everyone ooed, awed and cheered. "I would be honored, your grace." Sansa reached out her hand for him to take, but he declined.

"No, silly girl, I do not feel like dancing. I want to watch you dance with every man in this very room."

Silence.

"But your grace, it is so late, and I'm so tired. It has been a long day," Sansa said, trying to hide the desperation in her voice, but he ignored her and turned back to the guests.

"Who would like to have the first dance?" Joffrey shouted. No one dared answer. He grabbed Sansa's arm and dragged her to the middle of the room. "Don't be shy! Play!" he shouted and waved his hand at the small orchestra who started playing a lively tune. "Perhaps you, Ser Herland?"Joffrey barked over the music. Ser Herland was an older man, smart. He knew if he were to deny the boy there would be hell to pay. So he kissed his wife on the cheek and stood, offering his hand to Sansa.

"Wonderful," Joffrey said as he strutted back to his seat at the center of the table.

"My lady," Ser Herland said as he took Sansa's hands. Sansa accepted and he took the lead. She always loved dancing. Ever since she was a little girl, dancing had been something that always made her smile. She forced Rob and Jon to dance with her days before a party so she could get plenty of practice in. She took lessons and excelled at it. She used to dream of wearing the most beautiful dress, dancing in the middle of the room while everyone watched. She was doing those very things now, and all she wanted to do was crawl under the blankets and go to sleep, pretending this was all a terrible dream.

She finished her dance with Ser Herland, who gave her a sympathetic smile before returning to his wife. With every new song came a new man she had to dance with. Joffrey laughed and clapped as she was swirled around the room like his toy. She lost track of how many songs played. She was drenched with sweat and while Ser Gydrane twirled her, she lost her footing and fell, breaking the heel of her shoe. The crowd gasped, the band silenced, and Joffrey laughed.

"That's enough darling," Cersei whispered to Joffrey. Sansa was humiliated and near tears on the floor. Ser Gydrane helped her up and held her arm so she could balance herself.

"You're a mess," Joffrey started. "I like to see you pretty and right now you are anything but. Dog!" Joffrey yelled. "Take her back to her chambers, I am tired of looking at her."

Sansa heard the Hound approach her. The unmistakable sound of his armor moving with every large stride became louder and louder until she felt his hand on her arm. She readied herself for what should've felt painful and rough, but instead was gentle. He took her from Ser Gydrane and led her out of the dining hall. As they left, she heard Joffrey yell at the band to continue playing.


	2. Chapter 2

The hall glowed in warm amber hues. Torches stood aflame on either side of the walls leaving dark spots in between, where all the secrets of the castle and it's inhabitants lived. The drunken sounds of the feast disappeared more and more with each step. Sansa walked ahead, the Hound's footsteps stalked close behind as they made their way to her bed chambers._I must thank him for saving me._ She thought. _But where do I start?_ She did not even know how to address him. Calling him Ser or knight would only anger him, and being the only two souls in the halls, she did not want to risk that. She could not bring herself to call him the Hound, for that was the name of a treacherous, viscous killer. Which he was, yes...but not to her. Never to her. He was sharp with his tongue, and sometimes spoke cruelties, but everything he said turned out to be harsh truths. She did not fear him as much as she did the day Robert Baratheon came to Winterfell. She barely noticed him actually, her attention was on the yellow haired prince who exuded sophistication and power. _Foolish girl._

So deep in thought, Sansa lost her footing and tripped over the long Southern gown Cersei chose for her. Before she could hit the cold floor, a large arm wrapped around her waist with immense speed causing her to lose her breath. The metal armor dug into her ribs.

"Did the pretty bird have too much wine?" Sandor rasped against the nape of her neck. The room was spinning, the flames turned the world before her into a dream like haze.

"Let me go." Sansa begged, desperation cracking in her voice. Sandor immediately did as he was asked and she stumbled away from him. His eyes glimmered with momentary guilt. "I'm fine." She said as reassurance, to him or herself she did not know.

"Oh your fine?" He mocked, closing the space between them. "You were fine being displayed as a young thoroughbred would to the highest bidder? Letting those men put their hands on you? What would you Lord father think?" He starred at her, waiting for a response. She kept her eyes fixed on the marble floor as they began welling up with tears. "Where's my dance, girl?"

She parted her lips to protest, but no sound came out. She was frozen. She could feel the heat from his state. There was nothing she could say to stop him. He could do with her as he pleased. Everyone in Kings Landing did. Tears fell slowly down her cheeks. She didn't bother wiping them away. If she stayed still maybe she would disappear and all would forget the girl with the flamed hair.

He placed his calloused fingers under her delicate chin and lifted her head. She kept her eyes closed. "Look at me." He ordered. She opened her eyes. She had never been this close to his face before. His eyes looked like the sky on a stormy day. Weather they did not see here in the South. They were more common in Winterfell. They reminded her of home. _Home._ New tears streamed down her cheeks. She turned away from him, the memories of childhood flooding her mind. Days spent playing in the hot springs in the middle of weirdwood trees. Nights nestled in the furs of her mother and father's bed. Her father's strong soothing voice reading to the younger siblings. Sansa pretended she hated it and thought it dull that they needed to be read to before going to sleep in their own large beds, but she secretly enjoyed it. _Why have I always been so afraid to be myself?_

The last few years back home she had begun to crave a different life. Ones she read about in her books, about knights rescuing young maidens from war and dragons! Her septa taught her songs as they did their needlework. Ladies fair and kind with rosy cheeks and elaborate hairstyles, that overcame tragedies with grace and welcomed true love with open arms. Oh yes, how Sansa dreamed of being like the maidens from those stories. She remembered stealing a book from her mother's bed chamber, sneaking it into her room, and reading it by candle light, when no one else was awake. She wrote down every detail of the main character. The way she dressed, phrases she used, even her favorite foods. Lemon cakes. Ever since then, Sansa decided that would be her favorite food too. She kept the book underneath her pillow. When her father announced that she and Arya would accompany him on his travels to Kings Landing Sansa sat on her bed with the book in her lap. She fingered the worn spine. Her father believed in the old gods, and her mother the new. Sansa had been free to follow whichever she wished, she was taught the ways of both, but this book was what she truly held dear, what she based her every decision on. Fantasies of Kings Landing seeped into her mind like poison, and she sat on the edge of her bed. A place where people knew _of_ her, but did not _know_ her. She could start a new. Leave behind the girl who liked to have her father read her to sleep and go there as a woman. One with confidence and grace, just like the woman in her favorite story. Along with that girl, she left the book under her pillow.

In this moment, she wished for nothing more then to have that book. She used to be able to recite it word for word, but now could only remember the picture sewn into the leather cover. It was a girl, with flowers in her hair singing to a wounded knight on the ground. That girl did not fear the death the knight was about to face. Instead she sat with him, welcoming it as she did love, for it was a natural and definite part of life. Sansa decided she must not fear the man who stood behind her. She must be brave. She turned and looked once more into the grey eyes of the hound.

"I do not wish to dance anymore tonight, Ser." She said calmly, preparing herself for his wrath. But he only starred. Almost pleased with the rejection. That fed her confidence. "Please, take me to my chambers, for the day has been long, and I am tired." She added.

"The pretty bird wishes to go back to her cage?' He teased. _Why must he always be so rude?_ "As you wish." He nodded ahead, giving her the okay to walk on. Once she was certain this was not a trick she turned and started down the hall to her room but the broken heel on her shoe did not serve well to help the journey there be an easy one. Just as she was about to take her shoes off, the fearsome man was suddenly beside her holding out his arm for her to hold on to. She looked at him, as if silently asking permission, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. She carefully wrapped her hand around his forearm. Slowly, as if tip toeing around a sleeping beast.

"Oh go on girl! I may be a dog but I won't bite." He snarled, eyes still straight ahead. She held his arm tight. They started down the corridor, Sansa limping slightly from the fall. It did not go unnoticed.

'"Are you hurt?" He asked.

"I'll be fine." Sansa said. "Thank you for asking." He gruffed at that and took a sip from the wine skin he had tucked away in his pocket. The sudden movements sent pleasant aromas dancing into Sansa's nostrils. He smelled of wine of course, but there was something else. Something she liked very much. It was a mixture of the wine, leather, and the way the earth smelled before water came down from the sky. _How was it that he smelled like rain when there was none here?_ She loved the rain, even though it saddened her siblings, for when it rained they could not practice sword fighting. The ground outside the castle turned muddy and too dangerous to ride in. They sat miserably inside while Sansa took her pillows and blankets from her bed on the small nook by the window. She curled underneath the warmth and escaped into the world of her books. Her mother sent her cups of melted chocolate. She never felt more safe then in the castle on those days. Everyone was inside, no harm could come to her.

In her slightly drunken state the aromas intoxicated her beyond self control. Gone was the conscious awareness of how she looked to the world around her. Gone were the lady like manners, for something that felt far more natural took over. She started leaning closer into his arm taking in his scent. Breathing him in deeply, the smells taking her away from this place and into her memories. She preferred to live in her past nowadays.

They walked on. His normally quick and focused strides slowed to match her pace. She closed her eyes, letting him lead, for he knew the way. She imagined they were on a stroll in a garden. _Ha!_ She laughed to herself. _The blood thirsty hound on a stroll!_ The thought was amusing and ridiculous but that was okay. It wasn't the thought of him talking about the flowers or the birds with her that made her smile sleepily. It was the feeling of walking peacefully with someone she didn't have to pretend around. She could just be.

"Little bird." He spoke softly. Her eyes fluttered open and reality came back to her. She starred at the large wooden doors that sealed her chamber from the halls. Her view, slightly slanted. Oh gods! She realized her head was resting on his shoulder. She lifted it and stepped back a few feet, embarrassed by her behavior. He laughed and threw his head back in a roar of laughter. She frowned at his behavior. How dare he laugh at me! Fuming, Sansa stormed in front of him and yanked the door open.

"Good night, Ser!" she huffed and slammed the door behind her. She took a few deep breaths, leaning her back against the wall. Her blue eyes trying to familiarize themselves with the pitch black room. A rush of loneliness surrounded her. She didn't like it. His loud footsteps grew quieter as he walked away. Before she knew what she was doing she flung the door back open and stepped into the hall.

"Stop!" She shouted, her hand flew to her mouth. _I just yelled at the Hound! Gods he's going to kill me._ But he did not. He only turned around and waited for her to speak.

"So the wolf does have claws." He said.

"I wish to thank you." Sansa slurred.

The hound's eye brows went up in amusement. He stepped closer to her, intrigued. "Oh? And why does my lady wish to thank me?" As he stepped closer she could smell him again.

"You know why." She trembled, not wanting to say it out loud, not wanting to remember.

The Hound stayed silent for a moment, she could see him recalling the days events. "Aye." He said, nodding his head. "Lock your door, little bird. You'll sleep better." He ordered as he walked off.

Sansa watched his hulking mass descend down the hall until he turned the corner at the far end and all she saw was emptiness. She let out a breath and walked back into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

This high in the castle, the noise from the feast could not be heard. The only sound that disturbed the silent halls was a lock being turned.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa awoke to the stream of morning light barging through the heavy burgundy curtains. She turned over and opened her eyes. Another day in this place. She took a breath and sat up slowly. A throbbing pain in the back of her head made its presence known. Too much wine.

A blush crept up her neck as she recalled the events leading up to falling asleep. Joffrey's spectacle was unfortunately no surprise. What was surprising were her actions towards The Hound. She remembered drinking more than she was used to, for she had yet to acquire a taste for the red drink everyone seemed to favor so much in Kings Landing. It helped calm her nerves, but the spinning and twirling seemed to aid the wine in clouding her senses, which was the only explanation she had for her behavior with Joffrey's sworn shield. She didn't remember everything that was said, however she did recall tripping over her shoe, but not falling. She remembered the smells. A scent that was better than any perfume or lemon cake she smelled before. She remembered being so lost in reminiscing that she ended up resting her head against his shoulder. She quickly pushed that memory out of her mind, for it was too humiliating to think about. Surely he knew I was not fully myself, she hoped. She then replayed the end of the night in her mind. Slamming her door shut on The Hound's face, only to come back out to yell at him. Gods. She ran her hands through her hair. I really am the foolish girl he calls me. She wished she had someone to talk about this with. She thought of her mother and what wise words she would say. Mother did not raise me a foolish girl. I shall not sucum to his perception of me. I am a Tully and a Stark and we are not a foolish house!

Bursting with her mother's courage Sansa decided she would no longer allow anyone to think her a girl whose head is only full of songs. She unburdened herself of the fur blankets and shuffled over to the steel bowl full of water. She dipped her hands into the bowl and watched as the clear liquid drowned them. She bent over and splashed some on her face, instantly feeling less groggy. She cupped her hands and dipped them in again, this time bringing her mouth to the water.

She straightened, patting her face dry with a white wash cloth and made her way to the balcony. With a loud whoosh, she swung the curtains apart and welcomed the sun into her chamber. The breeze from the vast ocean ahead felt cool on her freshly washed face. Her fingers traveled to her hair as she undid her plait, sending red curls free to fly in the wind. She cupped her hands around her eyes, blocking the view of her balcony, and the city below so that she could see only the water and nothing else, pretending she was free. A soft knock on the door interrupted her day dream. She walked back inside and took her silk rode off its hook and wrapped it around herself.

"Come in," she ordered. Her heart beat fast. She prayed it was not Joffrey or Cersei. It's too early for whatever cruel game they want to play today. The door opened and Sansa's eyes widened before trying to conceal her surprise...and interest. A raven haired beauty entered the chamber closing the door behind her. The same one she saw Tyrion making eyes with at the feast last night. The woman was again dressed in a subtle yellow hand maiden's dress with a thin golden belt tied around at the waist showing off her curves. The woman bowed. "Good morning my lady," she started with a thick accent, though Sansa could not place from where. She guessed either from Bravvos or Lorath.

"Good morning," Sansa replied dryly with her chin held high, acting how she imagined her mother would if she were in her shoes.

"I am your new hand maiden," the girl said, breaking the awkward silence between them.

"I already have four," Sansa replied coldly, clutching her robe. She knew the girls who served her were spies of the Queen, and assumed this one was no different.

"I am new to the city and in my search for work I found I could only please old men, or please you my lady," she said openly. "I hope having five hand maidens will only make things easier for you."

Sansa was appalled at her crudeness. No one ever dared speak to her like that. Even when her septa taught her about having her maidenhood taken, she was not so vivid. She replaced body parts with types of flowers, and compared a man's release to a tall waterfall. It all sounded so pleasant. The foreigner stared at her, and it was obvious she did not understand how her words shocked Sansa. Perhaps, Sansa wondered, it is because she is not from here...

"You said you are new to the city." The girl nodded. "Where did you come from?" Sansa asked.

"Lorath," the girl answered truthfully. A free city. Sansa marveled at the idea of living in a place like that.

"And why come here? What promise does the Seven Kingdoms have for you that Lorath did not?" Sansa asked.

Shae eyed Sansa, as if deciding whether or not to tell the truth or make something up. "I'm from a small farming village. We had no wealth or things of value. We lived a quiet life, me, my mother, and father. One night men from a neighboring village raided our home. They killed my father, raped me and my mother, and then burned our home to the ground. They took me and my mother as slaves to work for them. The older woman were sent to work in the kitchens, and the younger women..." Shae stopped after seeing Sansa's horrified face. "My mother became sick, and was unable to work. We knew they were going to kill her once she was of no use to them. She told me to run, for she didn't have to strength to come with me. Once I was dried up, they'd kill me too. I had to leave her." Shae trailed off.

"How did you escape?" Sansa asked.

"I slit the throat of a man when he was most vulnerable." It took Sansa a moment, but she realized what Shae meant. Waterfall. "I snuck out of his room and ran. I didn't know where I was, or which direction to go. I must have walked for three days until an old woman found me. She took me in her home, and didn't ask questions. Only gave me food. After sleeping for what felt like a week, I gathered enough strength to tell her my tale. She said I could no longer stay in her home, for surely the men would come looking for me. She said I must travel to the Seven Kingdoms, that I could find work here. She had enough pity on me to teach me the language, and a few weeks later I hid under the decks of a ship carrying huge barrels of something that smelled awful, like acid. When I arrived here, a thin man dressed in black with devious eyes approached me and asked if I was looking for work. He took me to his place of business, a place a lady like you should never hear about. When I was there for two hours before a half man saw me and talked me into coming here."

Tyrion... Sansa didn't know of any other half-men, so that must be who she spoke of. She heard the rumors of Tyrion's taste for working women, and knew first hand him to be kind, but why would he take such an interest in this foreign girl? It didn't matter, it's not like she had a say in who was to serve her. They were all Cersei's spies. Remember your lady mother. Do as she would."

"Very well." Sansa said firmly. She turned gracefully, and sat in the chair facing her vanity. "You may start by brushing my hair." Shae bowed and walked toward her, picking up the brush.

"I want to wear it down today." Sansa smiled at herself.

Sandor woke up with a start. He sat up in his bed, drenched with sweat. Another nightmare of Gregor. He reached down on the side of his bed and lifted a leather wine skin to his lips. After a few large gulps he breathed easier. He never slept soundly in this place. Nightmares were as common to him as dreams to princesses. Some were easier to handle than others. The only thing that helped was the wine. Rays of the early morning sun shone against his walls in slits, due to him taking out his drunken rage with his sword on the curtains one night. He never bothered to fix them. He didn't care. His bedroom was sparse. No fancy decor like the rooms guests slept in. He was offered better accommodations many times but declined. What use would he have for a balcony, or a mirror surrounded by a golden frame. Why would he want to look at himself? He had a warm bed, a small fireplace, a place to put his armor, and a chair to sharpen his sword. And his room was a short walk from the kitchens, which served well when he was drunk and in need of more wine.

He took one more swig, emptying the skin and tossing it back on the floor before getting up. He put his hands on his lower back and stretched until he heard the traveling cracks in his spine. He tilted his head to the right crack and to the left crack. He didn't bother changing the tunic he slept in, as he was about to head to sword practice and was going to get it dirty anyway. He put his armor on with difficulty, the men usually had their armor carried to practice and help putting it on. Cunts. He growled. If a man thinks he is good enough to practice with me then he can bloody well put on his own damn armor. Sandor thought as he struggled with the buckle on his shoulder piece. "Fuck!" He cursed.

Armed with his sword in it's scabbard, Sandor stormed down the open corridor that led to the training ground. Men, bright eyed and bushy tailed surrounded the field, polishing their armor, drinking morning brew, served on trays by young woman. One of them approached Sandor.

"Drink, Ser?" She asked, avoiding the burned side of his face. He could see the repulsion in her eyes. "Fill this with wine girl." He shoved the wine skin on the tray, knocking over the cups of morning brew. The girl stepped back but it was too late, the drink spilled all over the bottom of her dress. Sandor laughed and walked towards the men. Most looked away with fear.

Sandor took a seat by himself one of of the benches and began sharpening his sword.

"Clegane!" Sandor continued polishing his steel. This task was relaxing to him and he did not like being interrupted. The footsteps of three men approached. "Clegane." The voice called again.

Shouldn't you be in your big bed with your whores eating breakfast sausage out of their cunts?" He mocked and continued polishing. A laugh escaped Bronn's lips.

"Perhaps for dinner. I have something important to discuss with you, quickly before unwanted ears hear." Tyrion said with urgency.

"I don't feel like talking until I've had my wine." Sandor rasped.

"Podrick, give Clegane my skin." Tyrion ordered.

Podrick, a young mushy boy unclasped Tyrion's skin from his belt and handed it to Sandor as one would hold out a piece of meat for a lion. Sandor grabbed it, took a few swigs, and then lifted his head.

"What do you want?" He grumbled.

Tyrion stepped closer, Bronn and Podrick looked a the men around them making sure none heard the conversation.

"I need you to look after the Stark girl." Tyrion muttered. Now he had Sandor's attention. "After everything that's happened I need eyes on her at all times. There are people here I do not trust, I want to know who's talking to her. I want to make sure she's safe. I already have someone working close to her, but I need another...intimidating presence around her." He added.

After last night, Sandor tried to force the flamed haired beauty out of his mind. She was drunk and you were there, she did not rest her head on your arm out of affection you fool! As he entered his bedroom after making sure she was safely in her nest, he paced and punched the wall. Stupid girl! Shouldn't go around doing that! If it had been someone else who walked her to her room and they saw how the alcohol made her act, who knows what could've happened. It's a big castle, even if she screamed, there's a chance no one would hear. No one would help. The little bird is much too trusting. He could barely control himself when she walked that close to him. Her hair smelled as sweet as it looked. Like lavender, or flowers. You cunt. The girl pays a little bit of attention to you and now you're thinking about flowers! He shook the thoughts from his mind.

"Why do you ask me? There are knights who would happily stand by the little bird as she flutters around all day." Ones prettier to look at than me. Sandor asked before taking another gulp.

"It is for that exact reason I ask you Clegane. I trust you have no interest in taking advantage of Lady Stark."

"What makes you think that?" He asked, his voice as deep as the Narrow Sea.

Tyrion leaned in, speaking so quiet not even Bronn or Podrick could hear. "There are not many men who would be so quick to cover the girl the brat prince was trying to strip in front of a room full of the kings guard."

Enraged, Sandor stood tall, towering over Tyrion. Bronn's hand went to the handle of his sword and Podrick starred in terror. Tyrion did not move, he kept his eyes on Sandor's.

Sandor finished off Tyrion's wine and tossed is to Podrick who clumsily caught it. "I want gold and wine brought to my room before the sky turns dark. If it's not enough, you'll know, dwarf." Sandor finished, walking past the three men.

Tyrion smiled, as he watched the beast tear across the field, grabbing another wineskin out of a serving girls hands before disappearing back into the castle.

After breaking her fast with Cersei and Tommen, it wasn't half day and Sansa already felt exhausted. A morning of sitting up straight, listening to Cersei's tales about how corrupt the Stark's were, and her "advice" about womanhood. How freely she spoke of private matters in front of poor Tommen.

Sansa tried to make conversation with the young prince, who's face reminded her so much of the Kingslayer. He was sweet and laughed at her attempted jokes, but Sansa could see that he was a sad child. His sister was his best friend, but now that she was gone living a new life in Dorne, he didn't have anyone except for the suffocating love of his mother.

Not only was it a long breakfast, but Sansa's stomach had become so upset, she could barely concentrate. Perhaps it was spoiled milk. She thought. She entertained the idea that Cersei has poisoned her. Out of all the gowns, jewels,and status Cersei had given her, that would have been the finest gift to receive. She chuckled to herself as she walked down the hall. She decided she would go to the Godswood to pray and seek answers. She needed guidance more than ever. She stopped short as she looked ahead.

At the other end of the hall, the Hound approached. He hadn't seen her yet. His grey eyes were fixed on the floor, his hand on the handle of his sword. He looked as if he was muttering to himself. Sansa swallowed and tried to stay confident. It was too late to turn and walk the other way. As she got closer to him, he stayed looking down at the floor. She thought of the woman in her favorite story. She was kind even to the sourest of people, and the Hound had not hurt her. In fact, it was she that forgot her manners last night. I must apologize. She didn't have time to ready herself, for he was about to pass her.

"Ser!" She said much louder than she anticipated, startling both of them. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her.

"I thought I told you bird, do not call me that. I am no ser." He spoke calmly.

"Then what am I to call you?" Sansa questioned.

"What I am, a dog." He replied.

"You're not a dog, you are a man." Sansa said. "A warrior."

Sandor laughed under his breath. "And you are a little bird, too afraid to fly."

"I wasn't afraid to fly. If you remember, it was you who stopped me from flying." She argued.

He was impressed with the fact that she stood up for herself and spoke truthfully for once, but angered at the memory she spoke of. He recognized the look she had in her eyes that day. He watched as she stepped towards Joffrey, he almost wanted to let her do it. To push the little shit off the balcony, but she would have gone down with him.

He grabbed her chin hard. "I didn't stop you from flying, I stopped you from leaving a mess I would have been stuck cleaning up." He lied. He kept his hand on her face, his grey eyes boring into her winter blue ones.

"Why are you always so hateful?" She whispered.

Taken aback, he withdrew his hand from her chin and stepped away from her. "You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday, when you're Queen and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved king."

She had nothing to retaliate with. She had forgotten the reason she stopped him in the first place. Tears made themselves home in her eyes and she walked away before he could see what he had once again caused. She clutched her stomach and headed for the Godswood.

Sandor watched Sansa hurry down the hall. He saw the water well up in her eyes and almost followed her, but did not. Good. He thought. It will be easier to guard her if she hates me. I won't have to worry about her constant chirping.

Sandor decided he needed to rid himself of the stress this morning had brought, and taking his black warhorse, Stranger for a ride would be just the thing to clear his head. He walked back the way he came, towards the stables, the scent of lavender clung to the air.


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE-

What a perfectly cloudy day it was for writing! This is my favorite ship, I didn't realize how much fun I would have writing them and can't seem to stop. I'm willing to open a little award for you lovelies. I will write a one shot san/san story of your choice to the first 3 readers that leave the phrase "Fuck the king." along with their comment. Happy reading!

Stranger's thunderous footsteps trampled the dirt as Sandor rode him through the woods. He gripped the reins tightly as they passed trees so fast, they bleed together like brown and green clouds. The black horse was well past being worked for the day, but Sandor did not want to stop. He couldn't stop. The light from the sun had turned from the bright yellow of midday, to softer golden hues, bidding the sky farewell. Sandor knew they had to return to the keep soon. He didn't mind being out of the castle at night, but riding Stranger back in darkness put the horse in danger of hurting itself. He pulled back on the reins, and began slowing the horse down. He could feel Stranger's quickened heart and walked him around for ten minutes before coming to a complete stop.

Sandor dismounted and led the horse to a nearby creek. Both man and horse drank from the cool water. Sandor's thirst was quenched well before Stranger's so he plopped down on the ground as the horse continued lapping. He took in his surroundings. A tree shook as birds rustled in it's depths. A family of rabbits hopped by across the creek. Sandor decided against killing them, for their meat was gamey and the kitchens always had cooked meats awaiting him. The kitchen girls learned to always have something read in case he came storming in. Sandor preferred not to eat with the royal family. He was usually present at their dinners, to guard Joffrey, but he liked eating by himself.

A light breeze flew over the water and through the trees. The leaves were in the beginning stages of turning. The vibrant green was now surrounded by yellowed edges. iWinter is coming./i Sandor thought. The words of House Stark reminded him of what he was running from. He laid his back on the ground and looked up at the sky, pulling handfuls of grass out of the ground.

He thought about denying Tyrion's offer. Telling him to fuck off, and give back the gold...but keep the wine. Let someone else do his dirty work. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wouldn't trust anyone else to look after the little bird. He thought of the kings guard and knew none of them to be decent men. They had all stood in the throne room the day Joffrey took out his anger from Robb Stark on Sansa. They all laughed and cheered as Ser Meryn Trant beat the girl, and tried stripping her. Sandor clenched his jaw and pushed that thought out of his mind. If it wasn't him guarding her, he would watch whoever did like a hawk. She would be on his mind if he looked after her or not. iDamn girl./i He let out a long breath, accepting his new duties.

Water droplets hit his face. He wiped them off and opened his eyes to find Stranger's face looking down at him.

"Alright then." Sandor sleepily said. He rolled up, his armor not making it easy. Stranger pressed his snout against Sandor's neck, nuzzling into him. Sandor pet his friend's nose and stood. He cracked his back, and took another look at the creek. Nature had a way of relaxing him. Mayhaps it was because of where he grew up. He loved playing with his younger sister in the fields outside the Clegane property. He grew up in a particularly long summer. They spent just about everyday out there. He always preferred the company of animals over humans. Animals never act out of spite, or revenge, he thought. They only do what's natural.

He mounted Stranger and began the slow walk back to the keep. Back to the place where the liars thrived, and the honest were displayed on spies as a warning to others.

As Sansa made her way to the Godswood, she noticed the afternoon breeze had a colder bite to it than yesterday's. She walked through the maze of flower filled shrubs, pleased to see no one else around. She wanted desperately to be alone, for the pain in her stomach seemed to have intensified since the morning. She followed the stone walkway until it turned into a dirt path, covered by a green canopy. She lifted the hem of her dress, and continued on the path. I should have brought my cloak. Sansa cursed her self for not thinking ahead. The canopy seemed to trap the cold air inside, causing goosebumps to grow on Sansa's arms. She walked faster, until she reached the other side of the covered path.

Trees surrounded a small stagnant river. She walked over to the water and tossed a stone in. It left no ripples as it disappeared below the greenish surface. Sansa once read that if a body of water lay so still, it meant it a psychic sea nymp called it home. She was no longer a child and didn't believe in such magical stories anymore, but still, she backed away from the river all the same.

She turned her gaze towards the trees until she found what she was looking for. In the midst of the tall dark trees, a white branch with red leaves laid nestled on the ground. iFather. /i Weirdwood trees could only grow in Winterfell, but some places offered branches, or even a single red leaf so those who believed in the old Gods had something to seek answers from. Sansa let out a smile and knelled in front of it.

She closed her eyes and began to pray. For her father, now peacefully resting. For her mother, who she knew must be broken inside, but remained strong for the young ones. For Robb, that he have the strength of the North inside him. For Jon, who had her father's dark eyes and was always so kind to her. For Bran, that his legs would soon heal and he could once again climb and run. For Rickon, sweet Rickon. She prayed he would not be afraid. And for Arya. She did not know where her ferocious sister was, but she prayed that she was looked after, and safe and mayhaps one day they would see each other again.

She found herself subconsciously praying for one more soul. A man so full of pain, she could see it in his clear as day in his cloudy eyes. A man who saved her countless times. From others, and from herself. The shadow who stalked the halls behind her. A man everyone feared, but somehow made her feel...safe? He was intimidating, and harsh. Why am I not afraid of him? He was the one person she found herself speaking freely in front of. She remembered a few nights ago looking upon the unburned side of his face. Northern features./i For the first time she really looked a him, she danced around the idea of him being handsome...

"My lady." Sansa gasped as a thin man in all black stood by her, watching carefully. His hands neatly clasped in front of him.

Sansa stood. "That's quite alright, Lord Baelish" She suddenly felt very claustrophobic. "I was just getting ready to go back to the castle." She finished, hoping her interaction with the secretive would go no further.

"How interesting, you took up your father's beliefs," He nodded to the weirdwood branch. "And not Lady Catelyn's."

"I was raised to freely believe in whichever I choose. i chose both." Sansa put plainly.

"One can not truly believe in more than one God, Sansa. " He said, stepping uncomfortably close to her, a mischievous grin grew on his face. " People are stubborn, there are few things that can alter a person's choices. It's different for everyone. Some are driven by love, wealth, revenge, even power. If you analyze every action you take, it always boils down to one reason. The gods offer nothing but false hope. How can a man pray for guidance and then go off to slaughter people? Did the gods give him that answer, or something inside himself he mistook as an answer from somewhere beyond?"

Sansa remained silent. She knew Lord Baelish had a gift with words. She didn't want to give him any information he could one day use against her. She tried to steer the conversation in his direction. "What is it that decides your actions Lord Baelish?"

He smiled at her. "I thought it was love once." He said as he eyed her red hair. "It's nice to believe in a higher power, but in the end we're the ones who have to face the consequences of our actions." His beady eyes went back to her blue ones. He held out his arm. "I'll escort you back to the castle."

Sansa had no choice but to take his arm. They began walking back, as they passed the small still river Sansa wondered out loud, "If I may ask, why did you come to the Godswood if you do not believe in them?"

He stopped and picked up a rock. "To seek answers." He tossed the rock in the water, and ripples appeared. He took her arm once more and they left the Godswood.

Stanger's coat was nice and shiny after Sandor gave him a good brushing. He unwillingly took part in Sandor releasing his anger, so he rewarded him with two carrots and a bucket of sweet oats. He pet his nose and whispered his thoughts to him, interrupted by the sound of laughter. Her laughter

He stuck his head out of the stable window and saw the little bird, arms intertwined with Lttlefinger, The snake. He would be damned if he made it easy for him to sink his fangs into her. Sansa was of great value, depending on how the war went, she could very well be the last Stark, and hold the key to Winterfell's power, and Littlefinger knew it,

He stormed outside and walked right over to them.

"Ah, Clegane." Lord Baelish started. "Have a little too much fun today?" He mocked eyeing the dirt on his hands and leaves stuck to his hair. "I didn't know you were so adventurous." He provoked,

"I wasn't with one of your whores if that's what you mean, Littlefinger."He spit at his feet. He noticed Sansa clutching her stomach. "What were you doing?" Sandor asked Sansa, who was looking at the ground.

"Praying." Baelish answered,

"Shut your cunt mouth, I wasn't asking you." Sandor snarled. He could've sworn he saw a smirk on Sansa's face.

"You speak with filth in front of Lady Sansa, you should apologize." Baelish hissed.

"I doubt my swearing bothers her more than your constant jabbering and wandering eyes." Sandor stood tall over Littlefinger.

"My lady, are you ready to go back to your room and change for dinner?" Baelish asked Sanasa with a kind tone. Before she could answer, the Hound interrupted.

"I'll take her." Sandor said, getting a look from Sansa.

"I don't think she wants-" Baelish started before being cut off.

"If anyone cared what she wanted, she'd be home with her family. I'm sworn to guard her now so i'll take her."

"What?" Sansa blurted out-loud.

"That's right, I'm to be your guard now bird, so I'll take you to you cage. " He said, and before she could protest he yanked her arm from Baelish, almost lifting her off the ground and started towards the entrance to the castle.

"I can manage by myself, thank you!" Sansa said before he released her sleeve. The material now wrinkled from his grasp. Once again, they found themselves alone in a torch lit corridor.

"Are you hurt?" He asked.

"No...why would you ask that?"

"Little bird can barely stand up straight." He observed.

"I must have drank bad milk this morning," She replied. There was silence between them as the walked down the hall. Sansa noticed it was almost comfortable, until she started paying attention to how silent it was. "Why are you to guard me?" She questioned. 'Who ordered that?"

"The half man."

Tyrion... She figured it would have been Cersei, sending him in as another one of her spies. "Why?"

"You never stop chirping." He avoided her question.

That silenced her, but only for a few moments. "Does that mean you are to follow me everywhere?"

This he would answer. "No, I'm still your betrothed's sworn shield, but I am to keep a close eye on you. Make sure no one harms you."

"Even Joffrey?" Sansa timidly asked. She noticed a glimmer of what she could only describe as hatred flash in his eyes.

"Little bird must learn how to keep her mouth shut. The wrong people could hear you." He rasped.

Sansa knew he was right, and she did keep her mouth shut around her hand maidens, and everyone else. iHe will not betray me./i She thought as she stared at him. He has the eyes of an honest man. It was strange how now, she barely noticed the scars and twisted skin that covered the right side of his face. The hole where his ear should be. Just like the wound under her left breast Ser Meryn Trant bestowed upon her, it had begun to look normal. like it belonged there. iHis face looks like it's supposed to be like that./i

"First you can't look at me with out shoving your tail between your legs, now you can't stop staring."

She immediately looked away. "I'm sorry Ser, I was not staring."

Her response got a laugh from the Hound. "Don't lie to me girl. You're no good at it."

"Neither are you." She felt his eyes on her and tried not to laugh. They continued walking until they reached her chamber doors.

"I'll be back in one hours time to fetch you for dinner." He informed her, gave a slight bow and walked away.

Sansa looked at herself in the mirror as Shae tied the back of her dress as tight as it could go, extenuating her waist. Sansa winced.

"Am I hurting you my lady?" Shae asked, voice filled with concern.

'

"No, it's just my stomach has been upset all day. I'm sure it will be fine tomorrow." Sansa reassured her.

Shae finished tying the last know and stepped back looking at Sansa. "You look beautiful my lady." She smiled

Sansa was raised to be modest, but even she could not deny she did look beautiful. The deep emerald dress she had chosen for dinner made her hair look as red and blood. Her skin looked like milk and her blue eyes, like stars in the sky. The dress was tighter than what she was used to wearing in Winterfell. The low neckline pushed her chest up high. It seemed like Cersei was slowly removing any old clothes from her wardrobe and replacing them with new gowns that showed more skin. Shae styled her hair in a Southern due as requested. Sansa wanted to avoid any problematic situations tonight, and knew Cersei liked her hair like this. Although Sansa preferred it down, the up do showed off her long slim neck.

\

There was a knock on the door. Sansa already knew who it was before Shae opened the door, and she rubbed a tiny bit of lavender oil on her wrist and behind her ear.

Shae opened the door and there he stood in his armor. "Hurry up now bird." He rasped. His lack of courtesies bothered Shae more than it did Sansa.

"Thank you Shae, goodnight." Sansa muttered before stepping out of her room.

"Good night my lady."

The chamber door shut behind Sansa and she stood before Sandor, who's eyes were on her neck and chest. Sansa could not move, she knew she should scold him for his roaming eyes, or turn away and cover herself, but she did not want to.

"The wolf is ready to play with the lions." Sandor observed.

"No, the pup is just learning how to be a wolf." Sansa replied.

Sandor held out his arm, Sansa took it, and they walked down the hall.

Dinner was thankfully uneventful. Cersei drank a whole flagon of sour red. Tyrion are quickly and left early saying he had somewhere to be and Joffrey was quiet. Sansa dared asked him if something was troubling him, and he replied by saying "Yes, but nothing a stupid woman would understand for they are the weaker sex." and then proceeded to plant a kiss on her lips. It made her sick. When she turned away from him, her eyes went to the Hound, standing loyally nearby staring at Joffrey.

Sansa thought about his face and she lay in bed. Happy the day was finally over and she could stay in bed for the next few hours, easing the pain in her stomach. A chill sent the curtains into a graceful dance. Sansa loved sleeping when it was cold outside, it made curling up under the furs all the better. But the furs could not keep out the dangerous thoughts of the day. Her interaction with Lord Baelish was strange and frightening to her. She knew he was in love with her mother, and seeing the way he looked her her made her nervous, for she was often told how much she looked like her.

Knock knock knock. Her eyes shot open. iOh gods,/i she thought. iIt's him, Lord Baelish./i She quietly stepped out of bed. Who else would be coming to her rooms at this hour. Joffrey? His name frightening her even more she grabbed the first thing she could find to use as a weapon. She unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

"It's about bloody time." Sandor whispered.

Sansa opened the door wider now. "What are you doing here?" She whispered.

"I'm to guard you now, remember? I have to stand out here all night" He said like it was perfectly natural for him to knock on her door this late in the night. "What's that for?" He looked at the brush in her hand. She quickly held it behind her back. "Going to kill her with a brush little bird?" He laughed.

"What do you want?" Sansa interrupted, not feeling like being mocked at this hour.

He held out his hand and gave her a small vile of a yellowish liquid.

Sansa took it. "What is this?" She asked as she held it to the torch light.

"Milk of the poppy." He answered. "For your stomach." His eyes went to the floor.

Sansa was shocked at his kind actions. "Th-thank you, Ser." Was all she could say.

"I am no Ser."

"Then what do I call you, now that you are to guard me?" She asked, blinking up at him.

"Sandor." He answered, swallowing hard.

Sandor... She mouthed. Yes, that's what she would call him.

"Sleep well my lady. And lock the door." He rasped.

"Do not call me my lady." Sansa ordered.

Sandor blinked in surprise. "What shall I call you then."

"Little bird." Sansa smiled before closing the door. She drank the medicine Sandor gave her and crawled into bed. She slept hard and well knowing she was safe with Sandor right outside her door.


	5. Chapter 5

Congratulations to Aliena Wyvern for winning the first spot in my san/san one-shot competition. Two spots left! If you'd like to win your own original one-shot fic include the phrase "Fuck the king" with your comment. Happy reading!

Sandor woke before the morning light made it's presence known to the world. He yawned as a brown bear would and stood. He was pleased to notice his head didn't have the same heavy feeling it usually did when he had too much wine, which was often. He felt groggy though. After he left his position at the bird's door, there were only two hours left of resting time before he had to be up and by Joffrey's side.

He stretched and splashed water on his face and hair. He normally shook the water out like a dog, but today he finger combed it. Taking care in parting it on the left side of his head, so it covered his burns. He wasn't embarrassed by his twisted scars. He learned he had to live with them at the young age of six. In fact he took pride in the way people cowered at the very sight of him. It kept unwanted conversation away, and helped in keeping his stoic expression. No one could read his face, which was vital in King's Landing.

He didn't care how the whores he'd been with failed to hide their repulsion. Why would he care about his looks in front of women who had no self respect. They were getting their coin, and he his release and that was all that mattered.

iSo why does is it so bothersome when she looks at me?/i He thought of the sad Northern girl, how uncomfortable she made him feel when he felt her eyes upon his face. The first time they met she could barely look at him. iGood,/i he thought then, ilet her be afraid instead of living in her world of knights and fair maidens. Give her a taste of what the world outside her books is like./i But as time went on, her looks turned from fear, to curiosity, to something else, Sandor cold not put his finger on. Mayhaps that's why it bothered him so. He knew how to deal with fear, but not much else.

He put his metal chest piece over his head, the weight on his shoulders felt like it always belonged there. He then started with the shoulder pieces, those were always the most difficult to put on by oneself, but he'd soon give up wine before asking on of the string bean stable boys for a hand.

His room turned blue, as the morning hues painted the sky. He was supposed to be outside Joff's door half past sunrise to escort the little bitch to breakfast. Joffrey never minded when he was late though. He enjoyed the stories of the Hound's late night escapades with wine, or Baelish's woman so much so that he would repeat them to his lady mother, who sneered with disgust. She would tell him such tales were not meant for the breakfast table, but only received a snicker and threat from the blonde prince.

The thought of Littlefinger poisoned his mind and Sandor found himself not walking towards Joffrey's chambers, but Sansa's. iI'll just walk by the door, make sure everything's alright and that snake isn't hanging around like a cockroach in a kitchen./i He walked at a pace quicker than his usual menacing stride.

He turned a corner and started down the hall that led to her chamber. iWhat the buggering hells?/i He watched as a hand maiden ran out of the room. Tyrion's whore then emerged and chased after her, leaving Sansa's door open. A wave of fear washed over him as he ran down the hall, his armor clanking like thunder. When he entered her chamber, his heart stopped.

Sana awoke from blackness. This was the first night since her father died that she had a dreamless sleep. She fell asleep feeling the same way she did when Lady was alive. She slept at the edge of Sansa's bed, her nose facing the door. She fell asleep as a child should, feeling safe in their own bed. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to know what time it was. Hoping to return to the land of peaceful slumber. She rolled over to get more comfortable, but in doing so, felt an odd sensation between her legs. iOh gods!/i Her eyes shot wide open and her heart beat fast. iPlease no. Please, please, please./i She sat up and tore the blankets off her body.

/iNo.../i The wetness she felt between her legs stained the sheet crimson. An uncontrollable sob left her mouth. She flowered in the night. She was now a woman.

She could not move. She sat up with blood between her legs crying like she had the day he father was betrayed. iNow that monster will have me, all of me./i The thought of his wormy lips on her body, his cold hands on her skin, his soulless eyes looking into her as he...

iKnock knock/i Sansa's eyes darted at the door. "Just a moment!" She shouted, but her voice betrayed her and gave away her current state of terror.

"My lady?" Shae's voice filled with concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" Sansa shouted, she had to think fast. She scrambled out of bed and threw the fur blankets to the floor. "I'll just be a moment!" Sansa tried to sound calm, but could not conceal the sobs in between breaths.

The sounds of Shae shouting ,and banging on the door were muffled as Sansa tried to lift the feather mattress, in hopes of turning it over, but it was much too heavy. Tears streamed down her face as she readied herself to lift again, but the pressure made her dizzy and she stopped. "My lady, please open the door!" Shae continued.

Sansa slowly walked over to the large barrier and unlocked it. She opened it for Shae who was greeted with the sight of Sansa's tear stained cheeks, and bloodied small clothes. The realization set in on Shae's face. She pushed Sansa aside, and shut the door behind them.

"What's the matter?" Shae asked before turning to look around the room. Then she saw it...the blood stained sheets. After a few moments, she went over to the mess and put her right foot on the bed. She pulled up her hand maidens dress, revealing a belt tied tightly around her bronzed thigh with a dagger hidden away. She unsheathed it held the dagger in her hand, as she observed the sheets. She stabbed at the mattress, sending feathers flying everywhere. Sansa watched as her hand maiden, imy friend,/i cut the sheets, trying to get rid of any evidence. Sansa's heart started to perk up. iThis may work! I might be safe!/i She thought. She almost started cheering Shae on but they were interrupted by a cough, as small as a mouse.

They turned and saw Gwendoline, one of Sansa's hand maidens, and Cersei's spies standing in the doorway. She saw the blood and exited the room as quickly as she came. Sansa froze. iIt's too late. She's going to tell the Queen./i Shae ran past her after the spy, but it was no use. Sansa sat on the edge of her bed, playing with a feather in her small hands. I couldn't pretend forever. He flowering wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be a day to celebrate, for she was now a woman and could be married off to a handsome knight. i It's what I always wanted. /i

Footsteps came through her doorway, she turned around expecting Shae but her cheeks flushed red when she saw him. Sandor Clegane stood frozen in her room.i Why is he here?/i His face dropped when he saw the sheets, for he too knew what that meant.

The day Joffrey took her to look at her father's head, Sandor was there. Joffrey told her "As soon as you've had your blood, I'll put a son in you. Mother says that shouldn't be long." His words repulsed her. When they first met she thought he was one of the most handsome lords she'd ever seen. Now she wanted nothing more then to look at his head on a spike.

Sandor walked over to her. Humiliated, she stood and grabbed the heavy furs from the floor and put them on the bed, trying to hide her mess. Sobs escaped her lips again and she ignored his stare as she continued making the bed. He put his hand on her wrist, stopping her fussing. She stood still and watched his fingers trail from her wrist to her hand, pulling it off the blanket gently. She let go and turned to him, but kept her head down, too embarrassed to face anyone. Their closeness made her dizzy and she wondered for a moment if he was going to hug her. With his other hand, he lifted her chin and their eyes met. His stormy eyes did not have their usual rage, but held a sadness that she may or may not have noticed before. She swallowed hard. Sandor let the hand on her chin caress her arm on it's way down back to his side. The touch sent shivers down Sansa's spine. When he let go of her hand he stepped back a few feet. She sat on the edge of her bed, knowing they had to tell the Queen.

Shae came running back in, but halted when she saw the Hound standing above Sansa. Even though Shae never spoke to the burned man, she heard whispers of his reputation and knew it was too late.

After Sansa cleaned herself, Shae brought strips of fabric to put in her small clothes so she wouldn't bleed on her gowns. Sansa decided on a simple powder blue dress and before she emerged from her chamber Shae gave her a hug. She returned the kind gesture. She knew Shae's story may not have been entirely true, but she knew one thing for certain. Shae was not one of Cersei's spies.

Sandor waited for Sansa outside her room. When her door opened, he eyed her messy hair, it was in a long braid down her back, and loose strands hung around her face. Her eyes were red from crying, but hopefully Cersei would think it's from the physical pain.

They walked to Cersei's chambers. He did not hold his arm out for her like last time. It was morning now and people would think it strange to see the Hound walking arm in arm with the Stark girl. They were both silent. Neither knew what to say and after a while, the silence became all they needed to hear. She listened to his breathing with every step. The constant reminder he was next to her made her feel safer than she ever did in the Red Keep.

When they approached Cersei's chamber, two guards on either side opened the doors. Sansa walked forward and noticed the Hound stayed where he was. She looked back at him with concern.

"I'll stand right here girl, don't keep me waiting," He warned. The guards chuckled thinking it was his usual cruel way of speaking, but Sansa knew he was reassuring her that he'd be right outside. More confident, she turned and entered the chambers.

Cersei greeted her with a hug. i?She already knows? Gwendoline must have ran here to tell her./i

"Sit down little dove." She swayed across her large chambers holding out her hand for Sansa to be seated on a lounge covered in a beautiful red material. Large windows all around the back of the room let in the sun, sending the gold needlework on the furniture ablaze. Cersei took a seat on one of the window sills. "Tell me sweetling, how do you feel?"

"Okay, I suppose." Sansa lied. Cersei was not satisfied with her answer so she continued. "I just thought it would be different..."

"In what way?" Cersei gleamed, since her daughter had been sent away, Sansa was almost a surrogate daughter and cold she Cersei was happy to talk about womanly things with her. Sansa hated it when she was nice, because it was hard not to believe. Her soft tone, and smile was so believable. iBe strong like mother. Don't let her manipulate you./i

"I thought it would be less messy." She confessed. Cersei laughed. Their conversation went from her flowering to giving birth, Cersei told her it was the most excruciating pain. How Robert took to hunting every time she gave birth, but not Jamie. He was always by her side.

"When he was told he couldn't come in, he smiled, and asked which one of them proposed to keep him out." The light in her face dimmed when she talked about Joffrey. "He will show you no such devotion." She promised. "The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. On that front a mother has no choice."

"Shouldn't I love Joffrey your grace?" Sansa dared.

Cersei looked at her with pity. "You can try...little dove."

Sandor waited for what seemed like an hour before Sansa exited Cersei's chamber. He looked at her for signs of pain or tears but found none. Sansa walked right past him, her eyes blank. Sandor followed her.

"Where are you going?" He boomed, once they were out of the guards ear shot.

"To the Godswood." She replied, never breaking her gaze from the ground in front of her.

"The little bird thinks the beings who put you in this place will help you now? What good have they done for you so far?" He questioned.

"What does it matter to you? You mock the gods, you named your horse after one of them!" She sang.

"Aye, and he's as real as you'll ever get to seeing any of your gods." He spat.

"Of course I'll never see the gods. They are not meant to be seen, they're meant to be felt!" She a "They will always help those who seek their guidance."

"So if they answer everyone, will they give guidance to wolves, the lions, and stags? Who will win the war if everyone is being helped?" Sandor retorted.

Sansa did not respond. She kept walking, her pace full of determination

Sandor lost it. iHow could she still be so naive in thinking the Gods would help her!/i He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "You avoid my question because you know the answer. Your head may be full of songs, but it's not empty. The gods aren't going to help you! You've flowered and the queen knows it! It won't be long now before you marry Joffrey and he puts a son in your belly! And you'd better hope it's a son! Sitting in front of a pale branch isn't going to change that." Sansa stared at him blankly which only raised his blood pressure. He squeeze her shoulders. "Do you hear me, girl?

"You're hurting me!" Sansa cried. Sandor immediately released his grip on her, but she did not run away.

He took a breath. iWhat will it take for her to understand?/i Before he could say anything, Sansa spoke.

"Come with me." She tested. "I'll show you." Without waiting for his answer, she continued walking down the corridor, towards the stables.

The past few days had been cold with winter's greeting, but this morning was warm. Sandor followed Sansa as she walked through the gardens. The smells of honeysuckle, roses, gardenias, and sunflowers filled the air with pleasant aromas. When they walked past a lavender bush, Sansa stopped and picked a flower.

"Lavender is my favorite." She said out loud before continuing to the Godswood. He knew it was her favorite. Whenever he walked by this part of the garden, the relaxing scent reminded him of her. The little bird always smell so sweet.

Sansa never looked back to see if he was still following her on their walk. It was as if she knew he was stalking behind her. When they made their way under the canopy of trees, the air became colder, but Sansa did not shiver. Her red hair looked like blood against the backdrop of the dense green forest.

Sandor had never been to the Godswood before. In all his years serving the Lannisters, he never had the urge to explore the castle. He preferred to leave the grounds and ride Stranger off the Kingsroad, where no man ventured. He got out of King's Landing as much as possible. iMayhaps I'll show her one day./i

He took in his surroundings. The Godswood was beautiful. Trees towered over them, all from different parts of the Seven Kingdoms. The air was filled with different scents, some areas smelled like fresh grass, others smelled like spices. The constant shade from all the leaves that shielded the sky left the air brisk. It caused Sansa's nipples to poke out of her thin dress, but he dared not look.

Sansa took a seat on the stone bench in front of a small river. She looked back at him. "You can sit." She offered.

He looked around, making sure they were alone. He was trained to spot a person from miles away. He listened carefully for rustling that didn't match the footsteps of an animal. He sniffed the air for the scent of another man. Nothing. Feeling safe, he sat by the little bird.

"You know, in my one of my old books it's said that when a river sleeps still that means a psychic nymh lives in it?" She smiled at him. "I know it sounds foolish."

It did, but Sandor didn't tell her that. He let her speak freely, for she wasn't allowed to with anyone else.

"So that's it then?" Sandor pointed to the white weirdood branch with red leaves growing out of it. "That's what all you Northerners believe it."

"Not all, my mother doesn't believe in the old gods." Sansa said, looking at the weirdwood branch. "There are forests full of these trees in Winterfell. Have you ever seen one?" Sansa broke her gaze from the branch and looked at him. He shook his head no. "They're very special. All ceremonies take place in front of them. Knighting young men, blessing babies, weddings..." Sansa's voice grew soft when she said that. "The trees have faces in them, and it's said if you kneel before one and it cries blood, it's a blessing from the Gods."

"Has one ever cried blood for you?" Sandor asked.

"Not yet" Sansa answered. "There is old magic in Winterfell. My father used to tell us stories of his father and those before him who were given answeres in mysterious way. I loved the idea of magic, and believed in it wholeheartedly before I came here. Nothing I asked for, for my father's life, Joffrey's mercy, to go home, was granted to me. In fact it was only made worse."

"You can't have what you want when there are lions trying to eat you." Sandor spat. "Don't ask a bleeding branch when you can do these things yourself."

"I can't do it myself." Sansa admitted, playing with the lavender flower she plucked.

Her words made Sandor sick. With the amount of bullying she had to endure it was no wonder he spirit was breaking, She chirped empty courtesies she knew the Queen and Joffrey wanted to hear. She was learning how to play the game, a game those with kind hearts shouldn't have to learn. "Your brother is off fighting his war, and your mother is by his side. No one has come to help you and yet you survived this far on your own." She heard the anger in Sandor's voice.

It made her sad to admit her brother and mother weren't thinking about her as much as she was them. Yes, they were dealing with the fate of the North, and she was less important than that, but still, she felt like she was being treated as a pawn in everyone's game, and not like a person with feelings.

"Thank you, Sandor." She whispered. "For treating me like a person." She turned to him and stuck the tiny purple flower in his armor. She dared glance at him, expecting him to laugh, but no sound came out. She noticed his hair looked different today. Clean.

They say quietly for a while longer before heading back to the castle. Sandor walked her to her rooms, then proceeded to his. When he shut the door he went to the dresser and opened one of the top drawers. He picked up a brown leather book. His grandfather gave it to his sister for her nameday when they were very young. It was her last nameday... A maiden was sewn onto the cover, presenting a wounded knight with a crown of flowers. He took the purple flower from his armor and carefully placed in inside the pages.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello my wonderful readers! I apologize for not updating sooner. It's that time of year for peppermint latte's, Christmas music, and the flu... I'm finally feeling a little better and decided you deserved a nice long chapter for waiting so patiently. I shall be updating frequently and posting the winning one-shots tomorrow. Enjoy!

Chapter Text

Joffrey waltzed down the corridor, proudly dressed in Lannister red and gold. Sandor acted as his shadow, his eyes on the back of his head. I want to take it and smash it against the wall. He suppressed a smile at the thought of Joffrey bleeding out on the cold floor.

They approached the small council room, the guards on either side bowed and opened the door. Joffrey entered the room. Tyrion, the hand of the king, the lord commander of the kings guard, the master of coin, the master of laws, the master of whisperers, the master of ships, and the grand maester were all present and seated. It looked like the meeting had started hours ago by the way maps and small ships and horses were scattered around the table.

"My king, what are you doing here?" Tyrion asked, annoyance rang clear in his tone.

Joffrey walked by the table, all those he passed tensed up, hoping not to be the next toy in whatever game he felt like playing. He grabbed one of the small ships and fidgeted with it. "I am the King, why should I not be here uncle?" He asked innocently as he made his way to the head of the table where Tyion sat. Joffrey stared him down until Tyrion left the chair and took the empty one next to it so Joffrey could sit front and center.

"You're right, my King. There is no reason for you not to be here, but what of Clegane?" Tyrion eyed Sandor and leaned in closer to Joffrey. "We cannot be too careful."

Joffrey spat out a laugh. "Which is why I shan't go anywhere without him, like you said, I cannot be too careful." He sneered at Tyrion.

"Very well." Tyrion cleared his throat. "I need that." He held out his hand for the small ship Joffrey held. He rolled his eyes with offense and dropped it in Tyrion's small hand. "Thank you... now, where were we?"

Sandor took his place near the entrance of the room and stood still as a statue. Normally he didn't listen to whatever meetings he got stuck standing in the room for. Money, food, peasants, if it didn't affect his well being, it didn't interest him, but he took in every word that was said in this meeting. He listened as they went over the weaponry, other areas in the realm that they called upon for help, where they would keep the highborn woman, on what grounds they would surrender, what they would do if Stannis attacked from the North, instead of the sea. Joffrey slumped in his chair, bored as they went over every little detail. If Stannis were to overthrow the lions, it could change the game completely, and he wasn't sure if it would be good or bad for him.

"We have enough steel for hundreds more, but there aren't enough men." The master of laws observed.

Tyrion sat for a moment. "Lower the draft age to four and ten. We need all the men we can get. If Stannis's army is as big as the rumors say, we will be outnumbered even if our woman fight."

"Four and ten? Lower the age to if they can speak, they can fight." Joffrey demanded.

"Your grace, we cannot take boys as young as five. We will gain nothing from them except more of a mess to clean up in the morning." Tyrion dismissed, which only enraged Joffrey.

"If I remember correctly, it is I who makes the rules, not you!" He grew red in he face.

"And I am here to advise you and do what's in the best interest of King's Landing. A crown does not give you brains. Do you realize that if we were to call on all young boys, as soon as the battle began, the men whose sons you sent to slaughter will aim their weapons not at Stannis' men, but at you? Do you not remember the riots, how quickly they turn when they're unhappy? Trust me when I say that is not in your best interest." Tyrion finished and sank back in his chair.

The room was silent. Everyone waited for Joffrey to explode and berate Tyrion. Sandor was impressed with the imp. He was the black sheep of the Lannister family, which should be a good thing. He didn't seem to have that evil gleam in his eyes the others did. They hated him, especially his sister and his father. Sandor wasn't sure about Joffrey's feelings toward Tyrion. He yelled and embarrassed him constantly but do what he threatened. The silence was interrupted as Joffrey spoke.

"Perhaps, if there are not enough men, we can make a trade..." Joffrey started.

"What kind of trade? We barely have enough resources to feed our own people." Tyrion stated.

"Not resources, a person." Joffrey smirked, knowing he had the rooms attention and curiosity.

Tyion swallowed hard, he knew this was not going anywhere good.

"Stannis is our enemy, therefore he is friends with our enemies. He wouldn't dare let any harm come to the Stark girl." Joffrey began.

Now Sandor tensed up. His shoulders and neck went stiff, and his fists clenched.

"Now wait a mi-" Tyrion interrupted but was cut off.

"I'm not finished." Joffrey screeched. "He wouldn't let any harm come to her, if he did, he wouldn't have any chance of becoming allies with the North. If we were to threaten her, bring her out in the middle of the fight along with Ser Meryn, surely he would have to stop his men."

"Let's say on the off chance, we did that. Bring out a poor innocent highborn girl to be raped in front of two armies, because that's what civilized people do. Say we did that, and he didn't stop his men. Then we lose the Stark girl, and any chance of Jamie coming home safely." Tyrion snapped.

Joffrey snorted. "It's war uncle. All men must die, some sooner than others." He stood, sending the legs of his chair scraping against the marble floor, and began walking out. "I'll have preparations made, Ser Illyn Payne will stand guard in the high tower and bring Sansa out when it's time."

Tyrion clenched his jaw, there was nothing he could say. How does one reason with madness?

Joffrey spun around on his toes. "And don't think this conversation shall be forgotten. Next time you will think twice before speaking like you have authority over me." With a wormy smile, Joffrey turned and the guards opened the doors for him. "Come, dog."

Sandor followed him, never breaking the cold expression he wore on his face. His heart was beating like mad. A battle field is no place for a little bird, and he knew Stannis would protect Sansa, but he wouldn't risk losing control of King's Landing for her. He wasn't viscous like Joffrey, but with the red woman in his ear, it would be just as difficult to reason with him.

"I feel like having some fun before dinner. Send for the red haired whore and bring her to my chambers." Joffrey commanded before disappearing into his rooms.

Sandor bowed and headed to Baelish's whore house. He knew of the girl Joffrey spoke of. Roz was her name. She had a large bosom, and flaming hair, that was dulled by her lifestyle. It had been quite some time since Sandor had been there. He didn't feel like having any woman as of late. It wasn't like he had a lot before, but as a man, he had cravings that needed to be satisfied. He tried to remember when he was there last...It was before Lord Eddard Stark was executed, he realized.

He looked in through the window as he passed the stables, making sure his warhorse hadn't trampled any stable boys that got too close. Inside he saw Stranger munching on hay, and a young lad in the corner playing with small wooden knights... just like the ones he played with as a child. He decided against scolding the boy, for he seemed fine in Stranger's company. They both sat alone, minding their own business, but alright with the fact the other was there.

He walked through the wet streets outside the whorehouse and was about to enter when he smelled a rat in the air.

"Sandor Clegane!" Petyr announced. "How good of you to come, we've missed your business."

"Aye, I'm sure your girls have really missed me." Sandor chortled and spit on the ground.

Petyr looked him up and down with disgust. "Yes well, your coin is as good as anyone's."

"You won't be getting any of mine today. I'm here on orders from the King." Sandor snarled.

"Since when are you his errand boy?" Petyr smirked.

"Watch your tongue there, I think the Seven Kingdoms would benefit if you weren't able to speak anymore." Sandor threatened.

"And what does our King want from a place like this?" Petyr mused, ignoring his threats. He knew the Hound did not say things he wouldn't do, so it was best for him to move past it rather than provoke the beast inside him.

"A girl you cunt, not a box of chocolates." Sandor spat.

Petyr knew Joffrey like to play sick games with his women. They often came back in tears with cuts and bruises all over their bodies. Petyr didn't care. If they wanted to leave, he could easily find a new girl, a younger girl eager for coin and a place to live. "Very well," he agreed. "I'll give him one of my best."

"He requested the best. I think you know which one that is." Sandor said.

Sandor's words interested Petyr very much. Girls kissed with fire were few and far between in Westeros. An acquired taste. The fact that Joffrey wanted a whore with flamed hair meant his interest in Sansa was growing. He didn't like that. The King's feelings for the girl had been predictable as of late. Petyr knew where he stood, but this new development left him with questions. He did not like having things left unanswered. It might interfere with his plans. "Roz?" Petyr asked...already knowing the answer.

"Yes rat man, I don't have all day." Sandor

"Then lets not keep you waiting." Petyr snapped his fingers, and a brunette girl came running out. The golden bracelets that covered her arms clanged together with every step. He whispered something Sandor could not hear in her ear. She nodded and ran back inside. While they waited, Petyr stepped closer to Sandor. Although he felt uncomfortable with the little man so close, his feet stayed planted where they were.

"The Stark girl will play a big part in this war. She holds the key to the North. Make sure she stays safe." Baelish said. Sandor didn't like the possessive tone in his voice.

"What's it to you if she lives or dies? And why do you think you can ask anything of me?" Sandor asked.

"It is easy to die in the game of thrones. To stay in the game, well that's tricky. I do not like having my pieces played with, and I will pay you a substantial amount to watch the girl. I know you don't like the way she's treated, Hound. Nor do I."

Sandor grabbed him by the collar. "Don't speak of what you don't know Littlefinger. You keep your eyes off me, or I'll gut you right here." Sandor's eyes were so full of rage, he could barely see Petyr shaking beneath him.

"All I'm saying is, I know you see the same madness in Joffrey that everyone else does. I want to return her safely to he mother."

Sandor let go of Petyr's collar and threw his head back in laughter. "So that's what this is about. You think now Ned Stark is dead, if you bring their daughter back, you'll have a chance with Catelyn Stark?"

Petyr was not amused at Sandor's laughing. The brunette girl walked back out, her arm looped through Roz's.

"Aw, the most beautiful girl for our King." Petyr exclaimed with a devilish grin.

I've seen the most beautiful girl and this is not her, Sandor thought.

Roz wore a dark blue traveling cloak, and an overnight bag. She looked at Sandor the way someone looks at a crippled, curiously but only for a moment, not wanting to make eye contact. She held out her bag for him to hold, but like Petyr, only received a laugh and nothing more.

"She's not safe, Clegane. Look out for her." Petyr hissed before heading back into his brothel.

Roz furrowed her brows in confusion, wondering if he was talking about her. Sandor clenched his jaw and headed back towards the castle.

Sansa replayed her conversation with Cersei that morning over and over. The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. When she first arrived in King's Landing, Sansa wanted nothing more than to be like the golden queen. The way she floated around with her nose up, exuding confidence and beauty made it easy for Sansa, and everyone else to adore her. Recent events have drastically changed her mind, and she did not trust one words out of the lioness' mouth. She learned not to trust those who came off kind, but Cersei's words struck true.

Jon's black mane popped into her head. He endured cruelties from her mother, for he was bastard born, but stuck around because he loved the Stark's. Sansa had always been cold to him. When you're that young, you're not able to see the good and bad for yourself. If your mother hates someone, why not trust it? In a child's eyes, your mother and father could do no wrong.

Older and wiser due to tragedy, Sansa looked back and cringed at the memories. She decided if she ever saw Jon again, she would apologize and make and treat him as her own brother. He always treated me like a sister...

Sansa had to decide if it was better to love, and in return be less capable of making rash decisions, or to be cold to others, and make decisions that will help her live, but live alone. Isn't it possible to have both? Sansa wondered. She knelt down beside her bed and prayed to the mother for answers. When she was done, her mind still wasn't clear so she decided to read and get lost in another world.

She must have only been two pages in when her mind started to wander. Why had I been so bold as to ask Sandor to accompany me to the Godswood? She thought more about the things he told her, trying not to let her own beliefs cloud it. His upbringing was different to say the least. Why should he believe in the Gods, when life was not good to him? She felt sorry for him and wondered if he ever experienced happiness.

She felt a blush on the back of her neck when she remembered giving him the flower. She hadn't planned on doing that, it just felt right. Natural. if she gave it any thought before it happened, she never would have gone through with it. She was shocked when he didn't laugh at her. Instead, he watched as she stuck it in his armor. When she dared look at him, she saw a glimmer of a smile in his dark eyes that gave her a feeling she never felt before. Her heart beat fast, and she had chills all over. His scent made her dizzy. Earth and wine. She experienced a real moment in a place where they did not usually exist. Everything was calculated and planned carefully, but this felt...normal.

"What are you thinking about, my lady?" Sansa heard Shae's unmistakable Lorathi voice ask, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"What?" Sansa asked quizzically.

"You're blushing." Shae teased.

Sansa closed her book. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to recognize that look on your face." Shae smiled. "Who is he?"

"What do you mean who is it? Joffrey, my one true love of course." Sansa lied.

Shae titled her head to the side and made a face. She reached out and grabbed a piece of Sansa's hair, running her fingers through the silky tresses. "We both know that isn't true. You can tell me!"

Sansa thought for a moment. She couldn't trust anyone in King's Landing, but Shae had helped her that morning, True colors are revealed in desperate times, and Shae showed her she was a friend, not foe. Perhaps she could ask questions with out revealing too much.

"What does it mean, when you get a sick feeling in your stomach every time you see someone?" Sansa cooed.

Shae took her question as a sign that she wanted to talk. She took a seat beside Sansa on her soft bed. "What do you mean sick? Like you're going to throw up, or butterflies?" Shae asked.

"Butterflies. I feel nervous, and very aware of myself around him." Sansa admitted.

Shae smiled. "That means you like him." Shae's excited tone got Sansa excited.

She liked the Hound? Gods! Sansa didn't know what came over her, surely that couldn't be true. He didn't look like any knights in the paintings she used to look at as a girl, and he certainly didn't act like one. "I can't like him..." Sansa breathed.

"Doesn't that make it all the more fun?" Shae smirked and arched her eyebrow.

Sansa couldn't help but laugh at that. She swatted Shae on her arm. "He's just, I can't like him, Shae. Not only because of Joffrey but-"

Shae interrupted. "You can't help who you're attracted too. You're growing up Sansa. You're learning what you thought life would be as a child is different than your reality. You poor girl, you've been manipulated and lied to by the people you thought were supposed to be good." Sansa's head fell. She lifted her chin up, the way he did. "If after all that, there's someone who makes you feel safe, and you know in your heart is good and true, don't be afraid of that feeling."

Sansa let out a small smile at that. He did make her feel safe, and she knew he hated lying. He once told her "A dog will die for you, but never lie to you." She believed him. Some people had eyes that seemed blank, but he did not. His eyes were so easy for her to read and she knew he may not be considered a gentlemen, but he did what he believed was right.

"Come on, lets get you ready for dinner." Shae got up and held her hands out. Sansa grabbed them and Shae lifted her from the bed. "You don't have to tell me who he is, but will he be at dinner tonight?"

"Yes." Sansa blushed.

"Perfect." Shae said with a smile before opening Sansa's wardrobe. She pulled out a deep purple dress with a tight bodice and plunging neckline. "This morning, you became a woman. It's time you look like one." The girls giggled as they got Sansa ready for dinner.

Sandor knocked on Sansa's door, announcing it was time to walk to the dining hall. Sansa stood in the middle of her room, trying not to fidget as Shae opened her door. When Sandor saw her, he froze.

Sansa looked beautiful. The deep purple fabric complemented her ivory skin, and brought out the fire in her hair. Her hair was down, the front sections pulled back revealing her sharp cheekbones. Shae rubbed a grey charcoal on her eyelids which brought out the blue in her eyes. Sansa never wore eye makeup before, and it made her feel dangerous. The neckline pointed down below her chest, and the bodice was so tight, it pushed her full breasts up a bit, and they peaked out of the dress.

Sandor looked her up and down, not hungrily but slowly. Like he wanted to memorize how she looked standing in her candlelit room.

Sansa wasn't sure how long they stood there staring at each other. Shae cleared her throat, sending them both out of the moment.

"Come on girl, it's best you don't keep your hosts waiting." Sandor warned.

Sansa put a matching shawl over her shoulders and followed him out the door. As she passed Shae, she saw her suppressing a giggle and felt like a girl again, trying not to laugh while her father lectured her and her sister.

The walk to the dining hall was silent. There was a tension in the air, like they both wanted to say something, but couldn't. Sansa didn't fully understand her feelings toward Sandor, but Shae was right. He did make her feel safe. Even when they were in the presence of Cersei and Joffrey. Just knowing he was there eased her mind.

"Little bird, there's something important I-" Sandor finally spoke but was cut short by Lord Bealish.

"Lady Stark." He said, bowing to her.

"Lord Baelish." She replied.

"Please..." He started, holding his arm out for her to take. "May I have the privilege of walking you to dinner?" He grinned.

"You may." Sansa said as she gracefully intertwined her arm with his. As much as she wanted to say no. she couldn't. They only person she could be honest with was Sandor, who glared at Littlefinger. He walked close behind them. The sound of his armor with each step reassured her.

"You look beautiful tonight, Lady Stark." Petyr said, his eyes violating her. "So much like your mother."

"Thank you, Ser." Sansa stated plainly. She wanted to avoid as much conversation with this man as she could.

"I hear circumstances have changed and it won't be long now before you marry." He said.

Sansa blushed with embarrassment. Did everyone know about her first bleeding?

"Don't be embarrassed, sweetling. It's perfectly natural. How are you feeling?" He asked with false concern.

"Fine, thank you." Sansa answered.

"You don't have to be coy with me. I know your happiness is out of these walls." He started. Sansa couldn't tell where he was going with this.

"I am happy here, Ser." She said, hoping that would be the end of it.

"Your mother is a good woman," Petyr persisted. "But her attention is with Robb. There isn't a chance of her coming to save you until the war is over. Who knows how long that could be." He finished. Sansa already knew this to be true. He was only reminding her of the upsetting truth. "Your mother helped me through many hard times, Sansa. I see this as an opportunity to repay her kindness. I can help you."

Sansa's heart started to beat nervously. She no longer hung onto false hope and didn't want to be part of another trick. "I don't need your help, Ser. I'm happy here with my one true love, Joffrey."

Petyr didn't by it. "I see how your spirit is dwindling. Your mother's heart would break if she saw what they were doing to you, and it's only going to get worse. Once you marry Joffrey, there will be no chance of escape."

They stopped in front of the dining hall doors. Sansa took Petyr's words into consideration. She knew he and her mother were long time friends, maybe he really did want to help. She would think of his offer. She did want to go home, more than anything, but had to stay cold for now, she couldn't let anyone in before she gave him an answer. She straightened her back and exuded as much confidence as she could muster. "Thank you, Lord Baelish, you would make my mother very happy, but my happiness does not lie outside these walls. It lies where it is needed."

"Very well, Lady Stark." He bowed.

The guards opened the doors. The warm glow from the candles and chandeliers hit them. The sound of chatter surrounded them. She smiled at Petyr before making her way inside, followed by Sandor. Littlefinger placed his hand on Sandor's chest, stopping him. Sandor immediately grabbed his wrist and threw it back at him.

"You'll find plenty of coin in your rooms when you return." Petyr hissed.

"If it's still in there when I return, you won't see the light of tomorrow." Sandor whispered. His voice like steel against stone. "I'm not your puppet." He finished before walking inside, not giving Littlefinger the pleasure of having the last word.

Sandor took a huge bite out of his turkey leg and downed it with sour red. He sat at a table off to the side of the royal families long wooden table. Joffrey sat in the middle, sticking his fingers in his food complaining it wasn't hot enough. Cersei sat in front of her plate, which was still full. The decanter next to the plate was almost empty. She tilted her head back and downed the last sips of wine in her goblet. She snapped her fingers and a thin blonde servant boy refilled it. Sansa sat on the other side of Joffrey. She held her fork in her hands and moved her food around her plate. Her eyes were no longer puffy, but smoldering thanks to the charcoal she wore on her eyes. He watched her chest move softly up and down with every breath. It was hypnotizing, She finally lifted food onto her fork and took a bite, locking eyes with him as she looked up. He looked away and went back to his turkey leg.

The news from the small council meeting that morning still hung around his mind. He had to warn her, he was just trying to think of the best way without frightening her. Thanks to Littlefinger's ambush, he had to be more careful. He was going to while escorting her to dinner, but when Tyrion's whore opened the door and he saw her his throat went dry. He could barely swallow let alone speak. She looked like a woman grown. The way her tiny waist spread into the soft curve of her hips was enough to drive any sane man mad.

He couldn't look at her as he escorted her to dinner. He smell intoxicated him and kept him drunk until they turned to corner closest to the hall, reminding him he only had so little time to tell her of Joffrey's plans when Stannis attacked. He started to before the rat interrupted them. He wanted to finish him off right there. He walked behind them close enough to hear the conversation. Littlefinger was smart, and kept his voice low, but Sansa spoke loud enough for him to hear. Her usually soft voice sounded a little too loud, as if she was doing it on purpose. From what he could make out, Littlefinger was planting a seed in her mind. He wanted to "help" her escape from this place, using her mother as a way through the wall she learned to put up. Sick fuck.

Sandor wasn't sure how long he had until Stannis' army attacked, but he now had to race against Littlefinger for time to convince the little bird she needed to leave. The thought of Joffrey bringing her out in the middle of a battlefield to be raped made him feel sick. Surrounded by hot blooded men who were driven to such an animalistic state of mind from the fighting, wouldn't have the sense to help her. They would kill each other to try and get a piece of her. He would fight through all of them to save her, but there would be no way to make it out of King's Landing in a war zone.

Joffrey leaned over to Sansa and whispered something in her ear. He snickered as a new plate was placed in front of him. He ate, ignoring Sansa as she quickly wiped her tears away. Sandor wanted to choke him until his eyes bulged out of his skull.

"Easy there, don't want anyone to catch you staring." A voice sang.

"It's my job to guard him. I have to stare you twat." Sandor rasped.

"I mean at her." The voice sang again.

Sandor's hand moved with great speed and grabbed Bronn's chin. He glared into his eyes before letting him go. He stood and made his way to the doors.

"Dog!" The voice that called for him silenced the room. "Where are you going?" All eyes were on them.

"To polish my sword." He winked. Joffrey loved his crudeness. It always helped when he wanted to avoid trouble with the brat.

Joffrey threw a piece of bread at him and Sandor caught it in his mouth. "I can't wait to hear about it in the morning, Dog. See that he has a new flagon of wine!" A skittish servant approached the Hound, presenting him with a new flagon filled to the brim. Sandor took it and raised it to Joffrey before taking a sip.

He chanced a look at Sansa who's eyes looked like they were begging him not to leave. He looked away and left, hoping she knew he would wait for her once she was done.

He sat along one of the walls in the long hall that overlooked the sea. Sandor always loved swimming. On particularly hot days. he would ride Stranger all the way to the sea and spend the day there. Stranger would sleep on the warm sand and Sandor would swim as far as he could. Once he went so far, he had to squint to see the top of the castle. He wondered what it would be like to swim away from this place forever. He looked away from the sea and brought his gaze closer to the castle. He saw men putting bags of sand behind the walls, and positioning the catapults preparing for the upcoming battle. It was coming...soon.

He heard footsteps and rose to his feet. Down the hall he saw Bronn walking alongside Sansa. Although Bronn annoyed him, he would rather have him escort to her rooms rather than Ser Meryn Trant.

"I can take the lady from here." He said to Bronn, who stepped back from Sansa and nodded.

Sansa brushed passed Sandor and continued down the hall. Sandor gave an accusatory look at Bronn who held his hands up innocently. "Women act strange during their blood."

Sandor scoffed at Bronn, thenran after the bird. Once out of Bronn's sight he grabbed her elbow. "Why are you running back to your cage girl?" He asked.

"Let go of me!" She cried. He could tell by the crack of her voice she was crying. She stopped walking, but kept her back to Sandor. He stood behind her, dumbfounded.

"Did Tyrion's pet do something to you, girl?" He guessed.

"No!" Sansa retorted.

"Was it something Joffrey said?' He asked again.

Sansa turned around. Grey makeup spilled down her red cheeks. He wanted to wipe them away.

"Why are you here?" Sansa cried.

"I was waiting outside for you. I needed fresh air." He said honestly.

"Just because I'm highborn doesn't mean I didn't understand what you and Joffrey meant. You went to that brothel!" She sucked the air in like it was water.

Sandor grew angry. "You know damn well that was a lie."

"You said you'd never lie!" She fired back.

"I didn't lie. Let Joffrey take my words and make of them what he will." He stepped close to her. "I needed a quiet place to think."

His soft tone got her attention. "About what?" Her curiosity got the best of her. Her shoulders relaxed as some of the tension left her body.

"You know I would never lie to you, right?' He asked.

Sansa thought for a moment, then nodded.

He told her about the meeting he witnessed that morning. Stannis was coming, and if King's Landing was to fall, what Joffrey meant to do with her. Her faced turned to horror.

"But Stannis wouldn't let that happen. He'd keep me safe." Sansa said to herself.

"No little bird." Sandor leaned down, and put his hand on her shoulder. "One highborn girl is not worth losing the iron throne over. There are still other Stark's out there. Winterfell is not up for grabs yet. If you were the last Stark, maybe... you have to flee."

Sansa let the information sink in. Sandor took her face in his hands, she looked up at him. The closeness along with the wine on his breath made her feel dizzy. "Will you go with me?" She whispered.

Sandor's world was spinning. He was so close to her sweet lips, he wondered what would happen if he lost control and kissed her. She looked at him with eyes full of sadness, and a shimmer of hope at the thought of escaping. He wanted to say yes, but he listed the negatives of doing so. He would lose his home. He didn't mind sleeping in the forest, and did so many times before, but for years? King's Landing was a honey hole for gossip. He could keep a eye on Gregor's where abouts. Going with Sansa, he would lose all that. Maybe one day after he killed Gregor, he could find her and take her somewhere safe. "Littlebird..." He started.

Sansa could tell he was going to say no. Her eyes filled with tears and she pushed him away. "You're just trying to trick me, like Lord Baelish!"

Her comparing him to that snake made his blood boil. "Sansa, listen-"

"No!" She screamed. "You're all after something here! No one actually wants to help me!"

"Get a hold of yourself, girl!" Sandor ordered, looking around. He grabbed her, and pulled her close to him. He breathed in the lavender perfume she wore. It drove him mad. "You know I want to help you."

" Let me go!" Se squirmed under him but he didn't loosen his grip. He had to make her understand. "You're just like the rest of them!"

He had no words, he hadn't expected the conversation to go here. He should have thought it through more. Why didn't he think she would ask him to go. She stopped struggling, waiting for him to say something. No words came out.

"Don't speak to me again." She whispered and pushed herself off him. He let go and watched as she ran to her chambers and slammed the door on his face.

She threw herself on herself on her bed. How could she be so stupid? How could she let her feelings blind her from doing her duties. She couldn't flee! Especially not with the Hound. She represented Winterfell here. She had to be strong. The tears came again when she thought of Joffrey's plans for her. That can't be true! It just can't! She searched for answers. She didn't know what to do. Finally, exhaustion took over and she fell asleep as early morning light crept in through her curtains.

Sandor never left her door that night.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa barely slept that night, and when Shae came to get her ready for the morning, she helped her put cream under her eyes to hide the dark circles. Sansa sat silently in front of the vanity as Shae tried to work her magic.

"What's the matter, my lady?" She asked.

Sansa didn't know where to begin. She was sure Sandor didn't go to the brothel, his eyes were honest when he said denied it, but that only left her with an embarrassed feeling for accusing him of doing so, and a confused feeling as to why she would be so upset at that. Then there was the fact that both he and Petyr Baelish, in different ways, told her she needed to leave. Though, the one who offered his help was not the one she wanted. She knew Petyrs ways. How skilled he was with words, and while she liked to think she was smart enough not to let him manipulate her, but he articulated something she was already thinking. Her dear mother was busy with Robb and the war. She knew that was the most important thing right now, and wasn't angry with her for putting her attentions on the bigger cause, but still, she wanted her mother to save her. She wanted Robb to barge down the doors with his wolves and come take her away from this place for good.

As her handmaiden looked at her with concerned eyes, Sansa wanted to tell her everything, but it would be impossible to with out revealing Sandor was the man she liked. Her eyes welled up with tears again, frustrated at not being able to tell anyone anything in this place.

Shae knelt down in front of her and took her hands. "You can tell me."

Sansa took a breath. "Two men told me yesterday I'm in danger, and need to leave King's Landing." She cried.

"Why are you in danger?" She asked.

"Joffrey has plans for me when Stannis comes. He means to use me as a tactic to get Stannis to surrender." She confessed.

"What kind of plan?" Shae's tone turned from concern to anger. Sansa tried to hold in her sob. She couldn't say the words out loud. "Who are the men that told you this?"

"Lord Baelish."

Shae's face changed, she didn't like the sound of that.

"He offered to help me." Sansa looked up with hopeful eyes.

"He's a snake." Shae said, disgusted. "And the other man?" Sansa stayed silent, She couldn't reveal his name. As much as she liked Shae, she learned not to entirely give her trust to anyone. "Is it the man you spoke of last night?" Shae asked softly.

Sansa nodded. His silence told her he wouldn't go with her, and she ended the conversation by telling him not to speak to her again. More tears streamed down her face at that thought. Shae wiped them away. "He won't help me." Sansa sobbed.

Shae squeezed Sansa's hands, trying to find the right words to comfort her. A knock at the door interrupted her train of thought. Shae got up and opened the chamber door slightly. Sandor's tall frame stood in the hall.

"I'm here to take the lady to breakfast." He said. His eyes looked tired, like he hadn't slept.

"She'll be out in a moment." Shae hissed before shutting the door.

She went back to Sansa and wiped her tears into a cloth. "You have to go to breakfast now, my lady. We can talk more about this later if you wish."

Sansa nodded. "Thank you, Shae."

Dressed in a velvet green dress, with gold embroidery along the neckline, Sansa took one final look at her self in the mirror. Her hair was up in a braided halo. The makeup did little to help the dark circles under her eyes. All I can do is get a good night's rest tonight, she thought.

Shae held her hand on the doorknob and Sansa gave her a nod, telling her she was ready. When Shae opened the door, her eyes immediately met Sandor's grey ones. She too noticed his tired eyes. Her throat dried, and her heart felt as though it was about to fly out of her chest, but she reminisced cold and composed. With out a word, Sansa exited her chambers and started down the corridors to the dining hall.

She could feel Sandor's presence behind her with her whole body. His armor clinking and clanking with every large stride. She became very aware of her movements, how she looked from behind when she walked. She kept her chin high, and her hands clasped. She reminded herself that she was a Stark. Her sister managed to escape this place, her brother Robb was leading the entire North in this war, her brother Jon, braved the cold and unknown in the Night's Watch, and her father died an honest man. The Stark's were

brave and true, she would find a way out.

When they arrived in the dining hall, Cersei and Joffrey were already seated. She stood before them, and bowed.

"Trouble sleeping, little dove?" Cersei remarked.

"A little, your grace." Sansa said regally.

"What's troubling you, child?" She persisted.

"The worry of war, I suppose."

"Not to worry child, we have the greatest army in all of Westeros. No one will beat us. We shall, and always shall remain on the iron throne." She smiled.

"Then tonight I shall have a good night's rest." Sansa lied.

She took her seat, and Sandor stood against the wall behind them. She ignored his presence and stared at the breakfast in front of her. Large plates covered the long mahogany table. Honey baked hams, beaten eggs, toasted bread with an assortment of jams, tea, coffee, and wine for the queen. Sansa thought it funny how much food the kitchens made for the royal family, when they barely touched it. Cersei nibbled on half a piece of toast, and Joffrey threw his boiled eggs at the fool dancing in front of him. She wondered how many families this feast could feed. Guilt ran through her veins as she stared at the full plate in front of her. She had no appetite, but made herself eat a little. She was aware of how lucky she was to have a comfortable bed, and plenty of food.

Tyrion and his trusted man Bronn stormed through the doors startling everyone.

"Ah brother, why are you so late?" Cersei sneered. "Up with the worry of war as well?" She mocked.

Tyrion clenched his fists, and took his seat beside Sansa. "No. just cleaning up yet another mess." He glared at Joffrey. When a servant offered to pour him coffee, he placed his hand over his cup. The servant picked up a decanter of wine, and Tyrion removed his hand, allowing the red liquid to spill into his cup.

Instead of her usual chamomile tea, Sansa opted for coffee this morning. She winced at the first few sips, not liking the bitter taste. Tyrion slid a cup of cream over to her and she poured it in. He returned to dipping his sausages into the sweet syrup. Sansa took another sip. It tasted much better, and she smiled at Tyrion with thanks. He was the only one of the Lannister's who treated her not only with respect, but like she was a human being.

Once Joffrey threw the last of his eggs at the poor fool in front of them, his unwanted attentions went to Sansa. "That's a beautiful dress." He observed.

"Thank you, your grace." Sansa said fearfully.

He turned to his mother. "I want three more made just like it, but lower the neckline."

Cersei nodded and Joffrey began stuffing his face with ham. "Would you like that?" He asked Sansa with a mouth full.

"Yes, your grace. Very much so."

He smiled as he chewed. "Good. You must learnt to like what I do, for when you become my wife, I will decide what you wear..." His brought his hand up to her hair and fingered a loose curl. "and how you wear your hair."

Sansa wanted to flinch at his touch but remained still. She would rather him touch her, than berate her, She was too tired to deal with his rage this morning.

Satisfied, he returned to eating. "It won't be long now before Stannis comes. Once we defeat his army, your brother's will be next. Would you like to watch me slaughter them?"

Sansa's skin crawled at his words. "Yes, your grace."

"Have you ever seen blood, my lady?" He leaned in close, but spoke loud enough for all to hear. "Have you ever smelled the retched stench of the blood of hundreds of men? "

"No, I haven't your grace." She trembled.

"I'll take you outside, the morning after we defeat the wolves. We'll walk through their dead corpses, and breath in the air of their burning flash." He provoked.

"That's enough!" Cersei commanded.

Joffrey whipped his head around and burned his eyes through his mother's skull. "How dare you speak to me that way."

"Breakfast is not the time to talk about slaughter, dear." Cersei smiled and took a sip of wine, trying to diffuse the situation. "Mayhaps after, hm?"

"I will do as I please, and you will learn to speak to me as your king!" Joffrey scooted his chair back and walked to the doors. "Come, dog!" He called over his shoulder.

Sansa heard Sandor growl, and watched the two exit the dining halls.

"Mayhaps if his father were here, he wouldn't act this way." Tyrion mumbled.

"In case you forgot, he died." Cersei hissed.

"Did he?" Tyrion asked with a smirk.

Tension filled the room. Cersei threw her napkin on her plate. Terrible things can happen on the battlefield I'll make sure to remember that when you're fighting out there." Cersei threatened. She stood, and fluttered out of the room.

Tyrion and Sansa ate the rest of their breakfast in peace. When they finished, and Sansa got up to leave, much to her dismay, it was Ser Meryn and another guard who followed her. Tyrion shouted. "No, no, no"

She stopped and turned around. "Beg pardon, my lord?"

"Bronn." Tyrion called over. "You will escort Lady Stark where ever she goes today."

"Aye." Bronn bowed to Sansa and smiled. "My, lady."

"And what are we to do, imp?" Meryn mocked.

Tyrion smiled. "I was going to give you the day off, but seeing as you forgot your place, why don't you two make yourselves useful and shovel horse shit."

"You have stable boys to do that." Meryn argued.

"And today will be their day off." Tyrion shewed them away.

"Thank you, my lord." Sansa bowed.

Tyrion smiled. "Enjoy your day, Lady Stark." He smiled and left the room.

It was a nice day and Sansa felt like being outside and distracted. She first went back to her rooms to get a book, then made her way to the gardens. As she sat on a bench by the rose bushes, Bronn awkwardly followed suit. "I'll be fine on my own, you don't have to follow me around all day.

"But I do, lass. Tyrion's orders. "He smiled"

"You seem to be good friends." He noted.

"I would never call a Lannister my friend, but I don't despise him as much as the others." He joked.

Sansa returned his smile. A question popped into her mind, and before she could stop herself, she asked. "And what do you think of Joffrey?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well that's not really my place to say, my lady."

"Speak freely." Sansa offered. "Please.

Bronn thought on it for a moment. "I think he's the spawn of evil."

Sansa took his words in and nodded in agreement. "It seems like everyone here is rotten."

"If I may, my lady," He waited for her permission to speak. She nodded. "I don't agree with you. There are some people here, not many, but there are some, who know the difference between right and wrong. They just don't have a choice in the matter."

"Like Tyrion?" She asked.

"Yes." He started. "Or even The Hound." He glanced at her.

"The Hound?" Sansa blurted out.

Bronn nodded. "No doubt, he has the face of monster, even I shook in my pants the first time i laid eyes on him, but I have respect for him. He's an honest man."

"Why do you say that?" She questioned.

Bronn turned his body to her. He didn't know how to act properly in front of a lady, but Sansa didn't mind so much. She found it refreshing. "People don't often pay attention to the little things. The small moments. But they're what I've been trained to look for. The way he covered you with his cloak, he knew what Joffrey ordered was wrong, I could tell the way he insisted on walking you to your door last night says he doesn't trust you with anyone else, and I can tell by the way your fidgeting, that you know I'm right."

Sansa immediately drew her hands apart. Conscious of how she was sitting, she realized she had tensed up. Oh Gods, he knows. She swallowed hard, trying to find the words to convince him he was wrong.

"Your face isn't hard to read, you don't have to look so afraid. I'm not going to say anything." He reassured.

"How am I supposed to believe you?" Sansa whispered.

"Because I know the difference between right and wrong. And I would never hurt a true lady, and you Sansa Stark are a true lady, who's lucky to have a man as intimidating as the Hound look after you."

Sansa looked down at her book and let out a small smile.

Sandor watched as Joffrey eyed himself in the mirror like a princess. He stood in his chambers for over an hour, watching seamstresses fit him with a new wardrobe. What kind of King would worry about clothes when war was upon them? Cunts. Sandor thought. Cersei sat on his bed and watched.

"No, try the blue." She waved at one of the seamstresses.

"No, mother, I want the red!" He shouted. "Don't do anything she says, "Joffrey looked down at the seamstress. "or I'll make sure you don't eat for a week."

"Yes, your grace." The girl said timidly.

This went on for another half hour, before Cersei requested a word alone with her little shit of a son, finally releasing Sandor from that room.

After not sleeping, and spending the good part of his day in a room talking about clothes with Cersei and Joffrey, he needed fresh air. A ride with Stranger would do him good. He passed the little bird's chamber on the way outside. His fists and jaw clenched. On the walk to breakfast, she wouldn't look at him. He wanted desperately to say something to her, but still hadn't come up with the right words. It doesn't matter if they're the right or wrong words, he thought. She made it clear she doesn't want me to speak to her. His thought went to how Joffrey spoke to her this morning. Of how he touched her. Putting thoughts of her brother's dead body into her mind. It took everything he had not to strangle the yellow haired bastard's neck right there. He watched as she picked at her food, and decided he would try to speak to her after breakfast, but after Joffrey's outburst, he was commanded to leave with him. He had to wait until dinner to talk to her... Even if the little bird didn't want him to.

So entranced in his thoughts, Sandor barely saw Tyion's plumply pet, Podrick walk in front of him.

"Ser Clegane!" He said after him.

Sandor stopped and turned to Podrick who stepped back in fear. "I am no ser boy." Sandor rasped.

"Apologies ser-apologies, umm, apo-"

"Get to it boy." Sandor spat.

"Lord Tyrion has requested a word, if you'll follow me." Podrick shook and started walking back the way Sandor came.

He growled, then followed the boy.

Tyrion sat behind his large wooden desk. papers, books, and maps piled high on either side. It smelled musky in there, the way a book that hasn't been opened in a long time might smell. Sandor stood by the doorway in his usual full armor. When he was walking around the Red Keep, the weight of the metal wasn't so bad, but when he had to stand for hours on end, it made his shoulders and back sore.

"Sit, please. Make yourself comfortable." Tyrion motioned for Sandor to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk.

Sandor growled under his breath. In four large strides he made it from the door to the chair, and sat down. His armor making a loud clank. Tyrion poured wine in two goblets. He offered one to Sandor, who took it. He was used to drinking out of leather skins, not jeweled goblets, but he drank all the same. The Imp was the only person he reckoned could drink as much as him.

"How is everything, Clegane?" Tyrion asked, resting his chin on top of his clasped hands.

"Bloody fantastic." Sandor groaned. It was much too early for this. "Is that why you called me here? To talk about our buggering feelings?"

Tyrion laughed. "No offense, but you would be my last choice for companionship in blabbering on about one's day. We'll pass on the pleasantries then and get right down to it. I assume you know about, Ros? The red headed whore?"

"Aye. Why would the well-being of a loose woman interest me?" Sandor barked.

"Joffrey killed her." Tyrion's words shocked Sandor. He knew Joffrey would torture the poor girl but nothing more. "She was found this morning, tied to his bed post with three arrows in her stomach. He slept in his bed while she hung there, dying." Tyrion finished. Sandor swallowed hard. "I asked you here because I want to know your thoughts on Joffrey's plan for the Stark girl. His cruelties seem to be worsening. I did not think there to be any truth to his words, I thought it was just for show, but now... well now I'm not so sure."

Sandor took a large gulp of his wine. If he was going to have to sit here and talk about the little shit's plan to have Sansa raped, he needed a buzz. "How's your day so far?" He mocked, wanting to avoid the atrocious subject.

Tyrion chuckled, he made up for his lack of intimidation with wisdom. He held out the decanter, offering more wine. Sandor accepted. "I would have no problem seeing to it that more gold be given to you in return for your protection."

Sandor took another gulp before answering. "You can't buy more protection from me, I'm already following your orders to keep an eye on her. I keep my word, imp."

"Surely there must be something you want?" Tyrion pressed on.

Sandor scoffed. He thought it funny that before asking again, the imp went to bribing so quickly. That was how things worked in King's Landing. "I already tried to warn the girl." Sandor admitted.

"And?" Tyrion asked with a concerned expression.

Sandor recalled their conversation. He wanted to help her, desperately. He imagined if they escaped together. On top of just trying to survive in the wilderness, how was he supposed to get her all the way to the North safely? They would be alone, in the forest, without news of the war. They would have no way of knowing which direction led to safety, and which headed to danger, or illness. If anything happened to her, he would only have himself to blame. He didn't know if he could live with that guilt. He was used to only caring for himself, until the Stark girl had come along.

"Clegane..." Tyrion started, in a tone that one would use to take a dagger from a rambunctious child. "It is important I know everything that was said. Any piece of information may help me keep Sansa safe. Please." He begged.

The imp had proved to be on the Stark girl's side. He commanded someone to cover her the day Trant stripped her in the throne room. He knew he was right. "She wants me to go with her."

Tyrion didn't flinch at his sudden outburst. Silence filled the study. Both men simultaneously took a sip of their wine.

"It seems Lady Stark has found a friend in you." Tyrion remarked.

"I have no friends, and I'm not the kind that girl needs." Sandor said, more to himself than Tyrion.

Yet another silence passed between the two men and they took to their wine.

"Well then it's settled. You must leave with her." Tyrion said matter of factually.

"And will you have one of your fancy carriages ready to take us on a scenic route to Winterfell?" Sandor laughed. "The King's Road is no place for the girl!"

"Is it worse than this?" Tyrion yelled back.

Sandor knew he was right, but he couldn't continue this conversation until his mind was clear. He barged out of Tyrion's study, and stormed down the hall. Podrick quickly shuffled out of the way. He made his way outside. He knew he didn't have much time to think on this. He would ride Stranger to the spot by the creek and not leave until he made up his mind.

The Red Keep had a way of making him feel claustrophobic. The walls were painted with lies and secrets. You had to keep up in order to call it home, or live honestly and call it prison. He lived under the radar for as long as he could. Being Joffrey's dog, feared by all served him well. He didn't have to speak, he wasn't asked of anything unless it was to kill someone, which he never minded. He was a shadow and he liked it that way. And then the little red bird showed up chirping her sweet words at him. He furrowed his brow and the thought. Why did he feel the need to go out of his way to protect her? Even before Tyrion asked him to keep a close eye on the girl, he always had. He watched Joffrey treat people worse than her, and not an inch of desire came over him to save anyone else. Perhaps it was because when she came here, she was merrily a child. The same child with stars in her eyes that he was before Gregor put his face to the flames. He saw himself in her, and knew what it was like to scream for help and have no one hear you.

As he darted through the gardens on his way to the stables, he stopped short when he heard a girl laugh. He recognized it's sweetness and knew who it belonged to. He peered behind a tree and saw her sitting in the middle of rose bushes next to Bronn. Sandor would slit his throat next time he saw him. What were they dong, sitting in the gardens, laughing? Sandor saw red and almost went over there, but someone beat him to it.

Littlefinger slithered his way over to him. He heard Sansa chirp her false courtesies.

"If you would give us a moment alone?" He asked Bronn.

"Sorry, but I'm under Tyrion's orders to stay by Lady Stark all day." Bronn spat back at him.

Well done, Bronn. Sandor thought. I'm still going to kill him.

"Well, if you could at least step over there." Littlefinger motioned to a bench across from the one they sat on.

Bronn looked at Sansa, and she nodded it was alright. He stood and brushed passed Littlefinger, taking a seat on the bench on the other side of the bushes.

"May I?" Littlefinger asked Sansa.

"Please." She allowed, and he took a seat next to her.

He's sitting too close, Sandor raged.

As he spoke to her, he lowered his voice. Sandor couldn't hear them and there wasn't a closer tree for him to watch behind. Plus, his armor would make too much noise if he moved. So he stayed, still and silent, as he was used to and watched. The back of Littlefinger's head blocked Sansa's face. He didn't sense any sign of distress, if he did, he would march right over there.

The conversation lasted only minutes. Littlefinger stood and took Sansa's hand. As he bowed, he placed a kiss on the back of her palm with his slimy lips. Sandor's entire body tensed up. It took everything he had not to cut his head off. He seemed to be practicing a lot of self control lately, and needed to release his anger. Stannis' army couldn't be coming at a better time. He was in the mood not to kill, but slaughter.

Bronn sat back next to Sansa and asked if she was alright. She nodded and told him she felt like walking. He stood and held out his hand for her. At least he treated her like the lady she was, Sandor thought.

He followed them as they walked slowly through the gardens. The headed off to one of the outdoor balcony's. Sandor watched as Sansa leaned her forearms on the stone railing looking out at the sea. He could see them talking, but the wind was strong out here, and he couldn't hear them. Bronn turned around, leaning his back against the railing and spotted Sandor. Bronn turned back to Sansa and said something, before making his way to Sandor. Sansa kept her gaze on the sea.

Bronn stopped in front of Sandor and crossed his arms, displaying a smirk.

"You'll wipe that look off your face if you want to keep your arms." Sandor threatened.

Bronn chuckled and nodded his head to Sansa. "She doesn't know you're here. Go over there."

Sandor glared at Bronn waiting for him to add some snarky comment, but he didn't. Sandor walked passed him, not breaking his gaze until his back was to him.

As he walked to Sansa, a nervous feeling made itself known deep in his stomach.. The wind caused her dress to blow to one side, revealing the feminine curve of her body. He stopped a few feet from her. She must be so lost in thought, she didn't hear me approach, he thought.

"Little bird..."

Sansa turned around quickly, her eyes meeting his. Loose curls blew softly in her face and by the way her chest heaved up and down, he saw she was nervous. They stood in silence for a few moments.

"What did Littlefinger say to you?" He dared. He had to know.

"You were watching me?" She accused.

Sandor ignored her question. "What did he say?"

"What does it matter to you?" She barked. Her cheeks turned a vibrant shade of red. "He offered me his help."

"He doesn't do anything unless he's getting something out of it, girl!" Sandor warned.

"I know." Sansa uttered, looking up at him, her pink lips in a pout, her blue eyes burning into his, the roaring sea behind her. Something natural took over and he stepped closer, almost closing the distance between them.

"You can't go with him." Sandor said deeply. He wasn't sure if it was her, or the wind, but she moved closer to him. His eyes went to her lips, and back up to her eyes.

Something changed in them in that quick moment. He saw a glimmer of what he could only describe as longing.

"I will go with whoever will take me away from this place." Sansa whispered. As she stepped back, he became aware his hand was holding her wrist. When did that happen? He tore his hand from hers.

"Excuse me." She said coldly and walked passed him.

Sandor turned around and saw he walk over to Bronn who waited for her. Sandor watched them walk away until they turned the corner. He stood there for a few minutes and gazed at the sea. The breeze blew his hair away from his burns. The salty waves sprayed droplets on his face, awakening him

I must be the one to take her away, he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello, hello readers! So, not so funny story, I finished this chapter Friday, and was going to edit and post Saturday. When I opened my computer yesterday, guess what? The document was gone! I went to the geek squad and they couldn't recover it. So I had to start over. I apologize for the wait, but I'm really happy with this chapter and hope you like it. Also, in my search for Christmas presents, I came across a Sansa Stark perfume on etsy and had to buy it for myself. The sampler size was only 6 dollars and it smells amazing. When I smell it on myself throughout the day, I get secretly excited thinking of san/san. Ugh I just love it and highly recommend it. They have a bunch of other scents too. Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and again sorry for the wait. Here's a link to the perfume.

listing/170552692/game-of-thrones-a-song-of-ice-and-fire?ref=sr_gallery_3&ga_search_query=sansa+stark+perfume&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery

Sansa hurried down the corridor to her chambers, wishing she had something more comfortable than the jeweled shoes she wore. Her feet ached, but she didn't dare stop. Bronn followed close behind, and she was thankful he did not try to make conversation, for her mind was still lingering on one she had with Sandor just moments ago.

The night before, she told him not to speak to her again, but something would not let her stay quiet. Mayhaps it was the stubbornness of the wolves in her blood? When he asked her about Littlefinger she realized he was watching her. Not guarding, but spying. Why would he want to spend his day watching me? She wondered. He thinks me a foolish, naive girl. Surely he would rather spend his time elsewhere. She couldn't ignore the warm feeling she got knowing he was following her though...

When he warned her about Lord Baelish, he grabbed her wrist tightly. Something changed in his eyes in that moment. They went from rage, to fear. Fear for her. He did not move his hand away, and something natural took over inside her, making her step closer. His grey eyes looked down at her open mouth, hungrily. She did the same and noticed Sandor's lips were different than Joffrey's and Pety's. Their's were thin and dry. Sandor's were fuller, and she liked the way the corners of his mouth turned down. She could smell plums and blackberries from the wine on his breath and felt an urge to taste him. The privacy of the garden balcony made the moment feel all the more intimate. The sea was at her back, and he in front of her, blocking her from the view of the castle. She pretended for a moment they were somewhere else.

When he possessively told her she couldn't go with Littlefinger, she responded by whispering she would leave with whoever would take her away from this place, hoping he understood the secret message in her words. The longing in his eyes left, and he tore his hand from hers. She left before he could insult her anymore.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Bronn asked.

Sansa shook her head, ridding herself of her thoughts, and saw they had arrived at her chamber door. She turned around and smiled at Bronn.

"I am well." She reassured. "Thank you, Bronn." Although he did not know how to act in front of a lady, Sansa found that she rather enjoyed his company. She turned to go inside but he stopped her.

"If I may, my lady?" He asked. Sansa turned back around, nodding in approval. He looked down both ends of the corridor, making sure no one was near. Satisfied with the privacy, he spoke lower. "I wouldn't trust Lord Baelish. He's a snake, and wants you to take control of the North." He whispered. "Trust the Hound."

Her eyes went as wide as saucers. Oh Gods, he knows. Goose pimples appeared on Sansa's arms.

"You need not worry Lady Stark. Unlike so many here, I am able to hold my tongue." Bronn winked at her, and for whatever reasons, Sansa trusted him.

Just then, her chamber door swung open and her hand maiden, Shae stood there with one hand behind her back. "Is everything alright, my lady?" She asked, glaring at Bronn.

"I think she may be getting tired of having to answer that question." Bronn joked. Sansa laughed politely, but Shae didn't move.

"Thank you again, Bronn." Sansa smiled. "I shall see you before dinner." He bowed, and Sansa disappeared into her chambers. Shae closed the door behind her. As Sansa walked to her bed, Shae tucked her dagger back into its sheath.

Tired from the lack of sleep, and eventful day, Sansa sat on her soft bed and closed her eyes taking deep breaths. Shae's silence was distracting, and Sansa opened one eye quizzically and found her friend standing by the door, smirking.

"What?" Sansa asked.

"Was that him?" Shae smiled excitedly.

"Who?" Sansa had both eyes open now. Her red brows furrowed.

Shae made her way to the bed. Her golden bracelets jingled with each step "The man you like?" She plopped down next to Sansa with a huge grin.

"Bronn?" Sansa cried. "Gods no!"

The girls burst into a fit of giggles. Sansa couldn't remember the last time she laughed so hard. It was a wonder that even after all she'd been through she could still laugh. Once they caught their breath, Shae shifted further away so she could face Sansa. She took her hands and held them on her lap.

"Do you want to talk about this morning, my lady?" Shae asked softly.

Sansa looked down at their hands. "Lord Baelish met with me in the gardens today." She admitted.

"He seems to be doing that a lot." Shae sneered.

"He's offered to take me to-" Sansa stopped herself. Shae was her friend, but even still, she did not want to give her plans away. Lord Baelish told her he would take her to her Aunt Lysa in the Eerie. Sansa had only met her odd Aunt once. She remembered Arya making fun of her nonsensical manners. "Away from here. He said if I want to go, he'll take me."

Shae let out a breath. "And he is your only way out?"

Shae's question was one Sansa had been trying to find the answer to. Mayhaps the Gods could give her answers. Too exhausted to walk to the Godswood, Sansa decided to go to the sept in the castle. She figured even if she prayed to her Old Gods in there, they would listen.

"I think I feel like sitting in the sept for a while." Sansa decided out loud. She stood and smoothed her dress.

"I'll go with you. You shouldn't be alone right now." Shae stood, smiling.

Sansa wanted to be alone, but she was grateful for Shae's company and too polite to refuse her.

"I would like that." Sansa smiled.

The girls made there way down the corridor arm in arm. A cool end of Summer breeze swept through the open walls sending a chill down Sansa's spine. She wondered how Shae was not cold. The handmaiden's attire dress was not very practical. She noticed Shae's nipples peeking out and quickly turned back ahead. Sansa had grown a lot during her time in the Red Keep. The stares from men grew everyday, but she never really looked at herself. When she was younger, she imagined what it would be like to have the body of a woman, to look at her self in a mirror and see things only her husband would be allowed to. Since her body went through its change, things in King's Landing had worsened, and staring at her nude self was the last of her concerns, but that didn't stop her from wondering if Sandor thought of her as a woman.

Their footsteps in the shallow halls were silenced by the sound of men's voices. "Look!" Shae pointed outside. The girls rushed to the wall, and peaked their heads out, getting a better view of the lower level. Men in Lannister red an gold uniforms set up one of many catapults along the wall walk. Other were placing clusters of arrows in thin buckets against the wall. Winter wasn't the only thing coming. War was near. The girls watched the men silently from above. Sansa remembered her father telling her stories of his battles, but they were just stories to her. Now that war was upon them, and she would be caught in the middle of it, she was terrified. I wonder if my father felt this same terror.

"What are you doing you cunts?" The raspy voice was unmistakable. Sandor. He stormed over to the men and picked up one of the arrows. "If they're sticking out above the wall the stags can crush them!" The men cowered. "Do you hens want to be with out weapons when they come?" He shoved the arrow at one of the men. "Lay them down flat!" The men scrambled and did as the Hound ordered. Sansa and Shae watched the men fix their mistakes, but Sansa's eyes went back to Sandor. He was so tall and powerful. His very height commanded the respect of the men. He watched the men, making sure they finished their duties. As if he felt her eyes on him, his back stiffened. He turned around and before Sansa could hide, he looked right at her. She gasped and pushed herself back from the window, out of his sight.

"My lady?" Shae asked, concerned.

Sansa began walking. "I-I just want to make sure I have enough time to pray before dinner." Sansa kept her eyes down, for she knew they would give her away.

"Is that why you're blushing?" Shae followed, hiding a smile.

"I don't know what you mean." Sansa controlled her shaking voice as much as she could. She held her chin high and tried to walk ahead of Shae so she couldn't see her embarrassment.

Sansa had never been inside the sept, for she always went to the Godswood to pray. Like everything else in King's Landing, it was beautiful. Colors streamed in through the high ceiling, which was decorated in stained glass. The marble floor was covere in the middle by a long red rug that went down the center of the room. Long mahogany benches sat on either side of the walkway. They were kept so clean, Sansa could almost see her reflection in the wood. The walls were covered with old paintings. Sansa spun around slowly, trying to decipher the story they told.

They took a seat in the second row. Sansa looked at Shae and watched her marvel at the beauty of the room. In that moment, Sansa was glad she came along. A soft silence filled the air and Sansa closed her eyes. She began her prayers to the father, for Stannis to have victory. The mother, to watch over her lady mother, and brother, Robb, in their cause, and her sister, wherever she might be. The maiden, to lead her on a path without danger or harm. Lastly, she prayed to the warrior, to watch over Sandor. Though he was a most fearsome killer, he was not immortal. She learned that when he father was beheaded. She finished her prayers, and they sat quietly in the peaceful room. Shae did not try to make conversation. Sansa didn't know what faith she belonged to, but her silence told her she had her own worries and hopes to think on. It wasn't until the light from the ceiling darkened that they decided to leave.

Refreshed from her afternoon in the sept, the girls headed back to Sansa's chambers to get her ready for dinner. They passed through the open corridor where the men were setting up catapults. Sansa did not look back outside in case Sandor was still there. He may have spent his day watching her, but she would not let him catch her watching him again.

Sansa always felt better after praying, and as she tapped her finger against her lip while she looked at her wardrobe, one gown caught her eye. It was not like her other preferred dresses that were either deep greens, purples, or blues, or very light pinks and creams. This dress was grey with a white trim, her house colors. The neckline was not delicate, but squared. The sleeves not flowing, but stiff. The bodice squeezed her waist tightly, lifting her bosom up high. Sansa looked at herself in the vanity and smiled. She looked powerful. She looked like her mother.

Bronn came to the door and informed her dinner would be served a bit late because Joffrey and Tyrion were still in the small council room. Shae busied herself by tiding the chamber, and Sansa went to sit on the balcony with a book. The calming sound of the waves distracted her from her reading, and she stared at the vast blackness. She imagined what it would be like to swim far, far away from this place. No games to play, no appearances to keep up, or people to please, just her and the sea. She would swim until her lungs gave out. The only thing left to do would be to float on her back and let death wrap its arms around her, reuniting her with her father in peaceful bliss. Although the water looked freezing, she imagined death would feel like laying underneath a high summer sun.

"My lady." Sansa awoke to Shae shaking her shoulder. She must have been so tired, she fell asleep. "It's time for dinner."

Sansa did not know why Shae's tone was so solemn, but when she went to her door to meet Bronn, she understood why. "Lord Baelish." Sansa gasped. He stood in her doorway, dressed in his usual black and grey long coat. His silver hair combed back neatly.

"Lady Stark." He grinned at her. Even though he never broke his stare from her eyes, she felt as if he took in her entire body. "I thought I would escort you to dinner so that we might finish our conversation.

Shae handed Sansa a grey shawl. She never liked wearing them, but she gladly took it, thankful to have something to cover herself in the company of Littlefinger. She smiled at Shae, who was glaring at Lord Baelish. He did not seem to notice her angry glare, but Sansa knew he saw. He saw everything.

They exchanged empty pleasantries as they walked to the dining hall. As the got closer, Sansa felt him tense up.

"Have you thought more about my offer?" He asked, stopping his steps.

"I'm afraid not, ser." Sansa swallowed. She followed his lead and stood beside him "I spent my afternoon in the sept, praying."

"Praying?"

"Yes, ser. War is coming and I pray for the safety or those I love."

Petyr took in her words. "Prayer is false, Sansa. Tell me, is it prayer that is giving you a way out, or me? It is the worst poison of all. It makes those who do nothing feel like they're taking part in decisions bigger than them. When the outcome is good, they rejoice, and when it is bad, they curse the very Gods they asked for help. Prayer is unreliable. Why put your fate in those you cannot see, when you can control your own life?"

Sansa had to bite her tongue. She wanted to defend her Gods, but didn't dare insult the man who might very well be her only chance at escape. Her father's stubbornness took over, not letting it go completely. "I pray for strength to do what I must to survive. Even if that mean trusting those I do not think wise to trust."

His beady eyes bore into hers and he stepped closer. "You may believe in your father's old Gods." His fingers stroked a loose strand of her hair. "But you have your mother's spirit, Sweetling."

Everyone seemed to have their nickname for her. Cersei called her, Little Dove, and Petyr called her Sweetling. Mayhaps by calling her those things, instead of what she truly was, a highborn princess of the North, it made it easier for them to torture her. Even Sandor had one for her, Littlebird...but that she did not mind. Petyr removed his hand from her hair, and offered his arm. She reluctantly took it and they continued down the corridor.

When they entered the dining hall, Sansa spotted Sandor right away. His towering presence made it hard not to. He broke his stoic expression and glared at her and Petyr's intertwined arms. He escorted her all the way to her seat, passing her off from one monster to the next, her betrothed Joffrey.

Sansa picked at her pork and noticed Joffrey was not acting like his usual self. There was no fool dancing in front of him, and he was not gossiping with his mother. He sat in silence staring ahead. It was unnerving.

"Are you feeling well, your grace?" Sansa asked.

It seemed to break Joffrey out of the spell he was under, and he turned to her. "Yes. Quite well. How was your day my lady?"

His question was calm and...normal. It was not like Joffrey to speak to her so plainly. She straightened her back, readying herself from any of his blows. "Relaxing. I spent my morning in the gardens, and afternoon in the sept." Sansa smiled. Joffrey clenched his jaw and turned back to his food. "Is something the matter?"

"Do you want to know how I spent my day?" He started. "While you were prancing around the gardens like a fool, I was making strategies, and going over weaponry. Making sure we are preparing as much as we can to win this battle." His face reddened and he started to raise his voice. "Your King, is doing all that he can to make sure we stay on the iron throne and you, my soon to be wife, dare to come in here wearing your house colors!" The room was silent. All eyes were on the mad king.

Sansa stared up wt him, eyes wide as saucers. "It's just a dress. I-"

"Enough!" Joffrey shrieked.

"Joffrey, please not now-" Cersei pleaded

"I said enough!" Cersei slumped back in her seat and Joffrey returned his unwanted attention to Sansa. "Get up!" He grabbed her by her arm and dragged her to the middle of the room, throwing her on the ground. Petyr stayed seated, even he didn't want to feel the wrath of the Baratheron brat. Sansa saw Sandor had moved from his post by the wall and was now standing closer. His fingers gripped tightly around the handle of his sword.

"Your father was a traitor!" Joffrey spat, circling her. "Are you a traitor like him?"

Sansa held her tears. "No."

"So you admit he was a traitor." Joffrey laughed.

"Yes." Sansa lied. She kept her head down, not wanting to see the satisfaction in his eyes.

"Say it." He commanded.

"He was a traitor."

"Who?"

"My father was a-"

"Say his name!" Joffrey yelled.

Sansa looked up at Cersei, who looked back without an ounce of pity. "My father, Lord Eddard Stark was a traitor..."

He stopped circling her and now stood right in front of her. "Say it again."

Sansa took a breath. "My father, Lord Eddard Stark was a traitor."

"Again!" His said joyfully.

Sansa could feel her eyes burning. "My father, Lord Eddard Stark was a traitor."

"Again!" Joffrey shreiked.

"My father, Lord Eddard Stark was a traitor!" Sansa screamed. She looked up at him. Tears began to stream down her red cheeks. Joffrey knelt down in front of her.

"And as future Queen of this city, you will do your duties, by any means necessary, to make sure we are victorious?" He sneered.

Sansa knew of the actions he spoke of. There was no question about trusting Littlefinger now, she had to leave. She nodded at his question.

"Say it." He said through his teeth.

"I will do whatever is asked of me to help win the battle, your grace." Sansa whimpered.

Her sobs were the only sound in the room. It was said it's better to be feared, than loved, and Joffrey was indeed feared by all. Pleased with her answer he stood, and without

offering her a hand up, he waltzed back to his seat. "Take her back to her rooms, I don't want to look at her anymore."

The familiar sound of Sandor's armor made it's way to her. He held out his large hand, and helped her up. Sansa bowed to the royal table and walked to the door. "And burn the dress." Joffrey ordered after her.

Sandor followed close behind as Sansa rushed to her chambers. He did not talk, or mock her, just walked behind her. Each step reminding her of his presence, and she felt safe. When they made it to her room. Sansa tried to say thank you, but no words came out. She knew if she turned around to look at him, his eyes would make her burst into tears. Any sign of comfort would set her off. She remembered when she was a little girl, any time one of her siblings upset her, as soon as her mother or father embraced her she would start crying. She hoped she would grow out of that. With out one word or glance, Sansa opened her door and closed it behind her, shutting out Sandor, and the rest of the world.

Her handmaidens helped her change out of the grey dress, and into her white nightgown. Shae offered to stay a little while longer, but this time Sansa denied her company. Shae understood, and with a small smile, she left with Sansa's dress in hand. Finally, Sansa was alone. She blew out the only lit candle, allowing the darkness to swallow her. Curled underneath the safety of the blankets, she let everything out. She didn't feel safe with Petyr, but what choice did she have? Joffrey was getting worse, and she knew Sandor's warning was true. Oh Sandor... she sobbed. Why can't he be the one to take me away? She thought. Exhausted, and out of tears, Sansa let sleep claim her.

BOOM! Sansa sat up with a start. It was still dark, she must have only been asleep for a few hours. She leaped out of bed and ran to her balcony, expecting to see hundreds of men, and fire, but no. She looked down below her and saw three men, dressed in Lannister colors laughing next to a catapult. They were just practicing. Oh Gods. Sansa put her hand over her heart and caught her breath. Stannis wasn't here yet. She slumped back to her bed, and sat on the edge of the soft matress. The light from the moon reflection off the vanity. She stared at it, taking herself back in time to Winterfell. When the full moon came, her and her siblings direwolves would disappear into the forest for three nights. Sansa would sleep with her window open so she could listen to them howl. Her youngest brother, Rickon hated it, but she loved the sound. It made her feel safe, imagining the direwolves keeping watch in the forest, making sure no evil came to the castle. She remembered another who made her feel that way and he was standing right outside her door.

Sansa got up from her bed and tip toed to the door. She pressed her ear against the wood, listening for a sign of him. She heard nothing but silence for a few moments, then the sound of his armor rang through the door as he shifted his stance. She slowly opened the large wooden door, letting the torch light from the hall spill into her room. He stood tall and proud. She could only see a little of his face, for his back was to the door, but it eased her beating heart.

"Sandor..." She whispered.

He turned around. "What are you doing, Littlebird." He whispered, looking around making sure no one was near. "Go back to sleep."

"I can't." Sansa caressed the door handle with her fingers. "The noise woke me up. They're practicing."

"Aye, and they'll be dead by tomorrow night for doing so at this hour."

"Mayhaps they're just frightened." Sansa looked up at him. "Are you?"

She watched his throat move as he swallowed. "Aye, Littlebird. I'm afraid."

They were silent for a moment. "I meant to thank you, for tonight. I saw you, put your hand on your sword..."

She moved her eyes back on her fingers, not wanting to meet his gaze, but she felt his stare burn through her scalp. "You couldn't have waited until daylight to do so?" He rasped in a low whisper.

Sansa took a breath and looked up at him with an open mouth. A loose curl hung in front of her face. Sandor slowly lifted his hand, as one would to a timid animal. He moved the curl away from her cheek, his finger grazed her skin and it made her feel lightheaded. The sound of three men's footsteps echoed in the halls, breaking her out of the trance Sandor put her in. With a heavy hand, he shoved her back into her rooms and shut the door behind them.

They stood by the door, with their palms against it in case the men tried to get in.

"Where's the dog?" One of them drunkenly asked the others.

"Probably getting more ale." Another man chimed in. "She doesn't need guarding with what our King has planned for her." He laughed.

The footsteps became quieter and quieter, and they listened until they were certain the men were gone. Sansa moved a little and she felt Sandor's hand right next to hers. The darkness gave her bravery, and she gently slid her fingers over his large rough hand. Sandor didn't move. Sansa was suddenly aware that she was alone with a man in her chambers, wearing nothing but a thin nightgown. She imagined the fit her old septa would have if she knew of her behavior. A cold breeze came in through the balcony, and caused her nipples to peak out of her nightgown the way Shae's did earlier that afternoon.

Sansa took her hand off his and turned her body so that she faced him, putting them in the same position they were in this morning in the gardens. She wanted to show him she was a woman grown, able to make her own decisions. Mayhaps he didn't want to take me, because he thinks I still fear him, she wondered. I will just have to show him I'm not afraid.

She stepped closer to him, closer than he had this morning. Her chest pressed against his armor, and he stayed completely still. Mayhaps he's the one who's afraid, she smiled. She brought her left hand to the right side of his face, the side where the burns covered his flesh with twisted scars. The first time she saw them, she averted her eyes, not wanting to stare. No such fear lived inside her now. She looked deep within his eyes, and held his face in her hand, unafraid. She felt his heart quicken and he brought his hand up to hers. It was so big, it covered hers completely. He looked down at her lips, just like he had this morning, desire filled in his stare. Unimaginable tension surrounded them. In showing him her lack of fear, she brought new feelings to herself. Strange urges took over and she could barely stand. Gods, what was happening to her?

"Sandor..." She breathed his name uncontrollably.

He must have been asking himself the same question, for he tore her hand from his face, and took a few steps back. For the second time today, he denied her touch. Before Sansa could say anything, he opened her door and left her room, leaving her breathless.


	9. Chapter 9

When Sandor retired to his room for the night he paced back and forth for what must have been an hour. His hand and face still burned from her delicate touch. Funny. He hadn't felt anything on the scarred side of his face since three years after Gregor put his face to the flames, and now they burned with even more intensity than that horrible night. He stopped in the middle of his room, letting the breeze from the small window caress him, but even still, he felt as if he couldn't breathe.

What was she thinking? He thought. What was I thinking? He didn't know why he had gone into her chambers with her when they heard the Lannister men approaching down the hall. He could've just as easily shoved her inside and stayed in his post outside her chamber door. He regretted it the second they were alone in the darkness. Urges started taking over his entire body. He made himself stay completely still so that he wouldn't throw her on her soft bed and dig his face into her neck, inhaling her sweetness. His plans had almost gone to shit when he felt her fingers find his against the door. At first, he thought it was a mistake, she didn't realize it was his hand, but when she didn't remove her fingers from his calloused ones, he knew she was touching him with purpose. He felt like if he moved, it would break whatever strange spell she seemed to be under, and she would realize who it was she was touching. The ugly, ferocious Hound. So he stayed still, not wanting her to remember who he was.

He had never been one to crave the touch of a maiden as fair as she, but there was something about the Stark girl he could not deny. Her naivety had been annoying to him, but as he watched her grow, learn, and prevail through tragedy, something changed in her, and he had taken notice. Mayhaps it was the pup inside her turning into a wolf. She kept it in check, knowing if she spoke her mind, it would ruin her game, but he saw it sometimes. When she spoke to Joffrey, she was smarter than the brat King, and knew how to speak her courtesies with a tinge of mockery. She was learning how to use her weapons, her knowledge with words, much like the imp. Sandor knew it would only be a matter of time before she started to use another weapon, one all women possessed. The one between their legs. She was not like Cersei, he knew she would stay true to her Lord husband, but he could already see her changing from the young girl he met in Winterfell, to a beautiful woman who would one day be his Queen. One he would happily serve until his dying day.

Sandor looked out his bedroom window, he didn't have a great view. Though he was offered better accommodations, he was a man of little needs and decided on this room. From the small window, he could see one of the many stone courtyards, and the castle walls on the other side. He looked down at the fountain in the center of the courtyard and put his hand to the burned side of his face, feeling the leathery skin and crevasses with his fingers. Did she feel the same disgust I do when she put her hand here? He wondered.

He let himself go in that moment. She placed her hand on his 2*face, and he was so entranced by the darkness, and her scent, he did not have time to be self conscious. He didn't want to be. He had experienced the touch of a woman many times, but he never felt like they actually wanted to do so. This was different. He could here Sansa's breath quicken as she pressed herself against him. He was drunk off her touch...drunker than any sour red had ever made him feel.

How he wanted to take her in his arms and feel her flushed lips against his. He wanted to press his need against her, and make her feel how he was certain no man ever had. He wanted to explore her until time took his last breath. He almost groaned at the thought of feeling her naked flesh against him. He looked down at her and in the moonlight, he saw her perfect pink nipples peaking through her thin white nightgown. All thoughts of killing Gregor, and the brat King, and the war left his mind In that moment, the only thing he desired was to be with Sansa.

He stayed under this spell until she spoke his name. The way it sounded coming off her tongue made him want to hear it again, and again. It sounded like a song.

The longing in her voice made him remember himself and he tore her hand from his face. He remembered his horrible burns, how they must feel on her hand that was used to fine silks and velvets. He remembered that she was a highborn lady, a Stark of Winterfell, and he, nothing but a Lannister dog. She was betrothed to a monster, and he could never have her.

As he stepped away, he avoided her stare, knowing if he caught sight of her sad blue eyes begging him to return to her, he would be lost. He searched for the right words to say, but it was as if someone was squeezing his throat, so he left.

Now in his room, he unburdened himself of his armor and crawled into his bed. He reached for his wineskin, but alas, it was empty. He didn't have the strength to walk to the kitchens, so there he laid. As he tried to let sleep consume him, the vision of her, in her nightgown, glowing in the moonlight tortured him. He tossed and turned, but she wouldn't stop dancing in his mind. He decided enough was enough, and allowed his mind to open up, inviting her into his every thought as he finished himself off. Only then, as he laid there, catching his breath, was he able to finally drift off to sleep.

"We didn't do it on purpose your grace." A Lannister solider pleaded in front of Joffrey,

"It's true, neither of us had ever been close to a catapult before, and pulled the wrong string." The other soldier added.

Joffrey sat in the iron throne, leaning to the right, with the looked of boredom spread across his rat like face. Sansa stood to the side of the room, along with the other highborns, noblemen, and kingsguard.

She had hoped when Sandor informed her these men would be executed in the morning, he was lying, but unfortunately he knew the king better than she. Watching them beg for their lives was almost cruel, as they, and everyone else already knew what the King would decide.

As Joffrey spoke, and mocked the soon to be dead, Sansa kept her eyes fixed on him, and not the man who stood behind him. Sandor...Gods. As she thought of what happened last night, her cheeks burned red with embarrassment. She had been so forward with her touch, she wasn't sure what possessed her to do that. She felt what she could only describe as, animalistic around him. Standing so close to him, in her dark chamber breathing in his earthy, wild scent reminded her of how her beloved direwolf, Lady, acted around Grey Wind, her brothers, Robb's direwolf. When Lady started acting strange, howling constantly, and nuzzling against Grey Wind, her mother told her she was in heat. She said each dog had a distinctive smell, that's how they were able to tell the difference between each other, and find their mate. Sansa wondered if the same went for humans. She suddenly imagined herself howling in the middle of the throne room and had to suppress a laugh.

"I have heard your pleas." Joffrey said, as he stood. He walked down two steps, the men on trial trembled. "And have decided it would be best-"

The large wooden doors on the other side of the room opened and Tyrion emerged, followed closely by Bronn. Joffrey glared at his uncle.

"My King, if I might have a word in these soldiers defense?" Tyrion asked.

"Why?" Joffrey hissed. "Their fates have already been decided."

"I'm sure they were long ago, but I must reminded you that there is a war coming and we will need every able bodied man to fight." Tyrion looked at the two skinny men in question. "No matter how incompetent."

Joffrey paused, clenching his jaw and fists. He did not like to be told what to do, or made a fool in front of the court, but he knew Tyrion was right. He glanced at Ser Meryn, who stood with his hand of the edge of his sword, ready to slaughter the men. Joffrey put a hand up, and Meryn begrudgingly marched back to his side. His blood lust, unfulfilled.

"Your lives will be spared today." Joffrey said. The men let out loud sighs of relief, as Joffrey sat back in the iron throne.

"Thank you, my King." One of them bowed.

"However." Joffrey started. "You will be put in the front lines...when the time comes."

Fear washed over the men, but still, the bowed repeatedly and left the room.

"I'm tired, I wish to go back to my room." Joffrey muttered.

"Your grace, there is still much to be discussed." Tyrion informed. "If you would please save your nap for later, you are needed in the small council room."

Joffrey fumed, and he stormed down the steps to his uncle. "I don't see a crown upon your head, imp!" Joffrey spat, and snapped his fingers. Ser Meryn followed and they left the room, taking most of the tension with them.

Tyrion stood in the center of the room as the crowd began dispersing and muttered something to Bronn, he nodded and walked to the doors, smiling at Sansa as he passed her.

She let out a light smile. She looked back at Tyrion, who to her surprise was approaching her.

"My lady." He bowed. She returned the gesture. "Are you well?" He asked with concern.

"As well as one can be in the midst of war." She smiled. The guards closed the door behind the crowd, leaving the room empty with the exception of Sansa, Tyrion, and Sandor, who stood by the throne.

"I know you wish for Stannis's victory." He started. "I cannot say I blame you, but I feel I must warn you, I have something that will assure us to be victorious in the battle." Sansa did not know of what he spoke, and was sure if she asked he wouldn't say. Her heart sank. "Therefore..." Tyrion stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "I highly suggest if you are able, to find yourself outside of King's Landing, you do so."

His words shocked her. Sansa knew Tyrion to be kind, for he had given it to her many times, but for a Lannister to tell her she should leave? He heart raced. Tyrion smiled an began walking away.

"Ser..." Sansa chirped. Tyrion stopped and turned around, "Why are you telling me this? Why are you showing me compassion?" She stood in front of him, fidgeting with her hands.

"Because, Lady Sansa, you have not been dealt a good hand thus far in life, and nor have I. I know what's it's like to live in a prison, and wish someone was there to give me the help I am trying to give you." Tyrion gave her a knowing smile and bowed before leaving the room.

Sansa stood there and watched as the guards opened the doors for him. She thought hard on his words, until the sound of metal clanking against the marble floor distracted her. She turned around and met his eyes. The now familiar feeling in her lower stomach made its presence known.

"Ser-" She muttered.

She expected him to say one of his usual jabs, but when she looked back up at him, she saw hurt and confusion in his eyes. As if the things he wanted to say to her were boiling inside of him, about to explode, but all that came out was. "Would you like me to escort you back to your chamber?" His voice cracked as he spoke.

"No." Sansa exhaled. "I need to speak to Lord Baelish, if you would accompany me to his rooms." She muttered.

Sandor straightened, and clenched his jaw. "And why does the little bird want to talk to a snake?"

"So that I can fly far, far away from this place." She whispered. She watched as his eyes moved from hers, to her lips, to her heaving chest. The dress she wore today was the color of sapphire, and the neckline was low. After last night, she wanted to please Joffrey, and knew he liked her in dresses that showed her skin. As Sandor's eyes trailed back up along her swan like neck, Sansa imagined instead of his eyes, it was his lips gently kissing their way up her neck, and his fingers lightly caressing her collar bone. He looked at her with hooded eyes, and she remembered that was the way he looked before he left her last night. Embarrassed, and a little flustered, Sansa turned and walked to the doors, with the sound of his metal stalking her. A small smile escaped her lips, knowing he was there.

They made their way down the corridor. Sansa was certain she knew were Petyr's chamber was, but the further down the hall they walked, the less familiar it looked.

"Is the Littlebird lost?" Sandor mocked.

"No." Sansa lied.

"Mayhaps this is what your Old Gods call fate."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe you are not meant to find Littlefinger's room."

Sansa stopped short and turned to him, fuming. "Why not? Do you think the Gods don't want me to escape?" Sansa looked around after she said that, making sure none of Cersei's or Varys's spies were lurking in the hall. "Since when do you care what the Gods decide?" Sandor swallowed hard. The wolf was coming out of her. Her face softened. Something changed in her eyes that made him uncomfortable, like she could see his every secret. "Mayhaps it is not the Gods that don't want me to leave."

Her words filled Sandor with rage. He grabbed her by her arms and slammed her against the wall. "What are you saying, girl?" He growled. "That I want you here in this hell?"

His eyes burned through hers, though where he expected to find fear, he found only sadness. She did not make a sound, but tears streamed down her cheeks. Their faces were only inches apart. Her breaths quickened, and the sadness in her eyes turned to longing. Why is she looking at me like that? Sandor wondered. He wasn't sure if he misread her face last night, for it was dark. But in the light of the hall, it was clear. The urge to kiss her took over his body, but he didn't move. He searched her eyes for more answers, even though the look in her eyes gave him permission, he still could not believe a girl as fair and noble as she would want him. A dog.

"Take me to his chamber." She whispered. It was her turn to break the spell, and so he reluctantly let go of her, not realizing how hard his grip was.

"Did I hurt you, girl?" He asked.

"Yes."

He apologized with his eyes before turning away and walking in the direction of Littlefinger's chamber.

She had been in there for what felt like hours. Sandor paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, but time only seemed to pass by slower with each step. He had offered to go in with her, but she kindly denied his presence with her polite words. How he hated when she spoke to him as she did everyone else. He liked the fact that she felt so free to say what she wished when they were alone, even if it pissed him off half the time. When she spoke the same courtesies that she did everyone else to him, it made him feel like she saw him as just another monster she had to tip toe around. And yes, he hadn't treated her the way a knight in one of her stories would treat a lady, but he treated her better than anyone else, and knew she saw that.

So why did it anger him so much that she seeked help from Littlefinger and not him? She did you fool, but you said no. Why should you help her, you'll only be putting yourself in harms way along with her. The Kingsroad is treacherous, at least Littlefinger can give her a more comfortable passage to whereever he was taking her.

That was just it...where was he taking her. What if she left and he never saw her again? Get a hold of yourself Clegane. He silently cursed himself.

With a loud creak, Littlefinger's chamber door opened and he and Sansa emerged. Sandor watched down the hall as he took her hand in his and placed a prolonged kiss, never breaking eye contact. Sansa shifted uncomfortably, and Sandor stormed over to them.

"We shall speak again soon, sweetling." He smiled mischievously at her.

"You will address her as Lady Stark, snake." Sandor's deep voice boomed through out the hall.

Littlefinger payed him no mind, which only served to enrage Sandor further. He bowed to Sansa, and she walked away.

Silence followed them until they were at a safe distance from Littlefinger's chamber.

"What did he say?" Sandor rasped.

"That is none of your concern." Sansa's voice cracked.

"You think I will tell someone?" Sandor laughed.

"No, I don't believe you would do that." She replied.

"Then tell me." He tried to suppress the desperation in his tone.

"Why?" She continued walking.

"Do not play games with me Little bird, you are no good at them."

"I'm not playing anything, ser. I do not think my life to be a game. After watching my father's head fall from his body I realized the finality of death is the only certainty in this world, and I am just doing what I can to prevent that from happening to me."

Her honesty and harshness took him aback. They approached her chamber door, and Sandor couldn't take not knowing what happened in that room.

"What did he say to you?" He asked again.

Sansa turned to him. She took a breath before speaking. "He is taking me away from here." She avoided his eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me." Sansa opened her chamber door and proceeded into her room, as she shut the door behind her a large hand stopped it from closing. She quickly turned around, and before she could say a word, Sandor closed the door behind them.

"What are you doing?" Sansa squealed. "You can't be in here!" As she stepped backwards to her balcony, Sandor walked to her closing the distance between them.

"What do you think will happen once he takes you back to your mother and brother?" Sandor spoke in a hushed tone. "He will be sure to ask for a pretty penny for returning their beloved daughter." He warned.

"He will surely receive enough coin to-" Sansa started, but was shortly interrupted.

"Coin?" He laughed. "You think that's what he'll ask for? I know you're not a fool, girl."

"He wouldn't ask for my hand. I am to marry a prince." Sansa protested.

"You think after your family promised you to Joffrey they'll care? They'll be so overjoyed to have you back, they would happily give you to the man who brings you home."

"I have a duty to my-"

"Duty? Do you think having a child is a priority when your family is fighting to keep their home?"

His words felt like an arrow piercing her heart. What if he was right?

"You know how Littlefinger is with words. He could sell a a painting to a blind man if he wanted to."

"Why must you do this?"

"What?"

"You know what." Tears welled up in her eyes. "You tell me I must leave, then say no when I ask you to take me, then when I find someone who will, you try to persuade me not to accept their help." She took a large breath in. "You're the one playing games Sandor!"

She reached up to slap him, but he caught her wrist and held it. "No more polite words for me, eh? Did he tell you that's what I was doing? A dog will die for you, but never lie to you. I'm not playing any game with you!"

"Don't touch me." She whispered.

"Does my touch disgust you now?"

"You should not touch a highborn lady." She shook.

"Is that what he said to you? That a dog should keep his filthy hands of you?" Sandor tightened his grip around her wrist. She inhaled sharply. "If that's what you think of me, I'll have my song."

"Sandor..." Sansa started.

"Sing to me Little bird." His voice betrayed him, for the threatening manner in which he spoke was laced with sadness.

Sansa looked at him, but he would not meet her stare. He looked down and his fingers that wrapped around her small wrist. What Sansa saw infront of her was not the monster Lord Baelish had warned her about. She saw a man whose wounds were deeper than the burns on his face. A man whose heart was blackened by the cruelties life had bestowed upon him. She had never heard him ask for anything, and now, as he asked her for a simple song, she felt it would only add to the cruelties if she denied him, so she sang.

Where Lagan streams sing lullaby,

There blows a lily fair.

The twilight gleam is in her eye,

The night is on her hair

And like a love-sick lenashee

She hath my soul in thrall.

No life have I, no liberty,

For love is lord of all.

And often when the beetle's horn

Has lulled the eye to sleep,

I slip into her shieling lorn

And through the doorway creep.

There on the cricket's singing stone

She makes the bogwood fire.

Then comes that soft sweet undertone,

The song of heart's desire.

Her welcome, like her love for me,

Is from her heart within:

Her warm kiss is felicity

That knows no taint of sin.

And, when I stir my foot to go,

'Tis leaving Love and light

To feel the wind of longing blow

From out the dark of night.

Sansa finished her song. It was one she hadn't sang for a very long time, and took her to another place. As she opened her eyes and remembered where she was, she realized Sandor was now on his knees in front of her with his arms wrapped around her waist, and her hands, around the back of his neck. The side of his face was against her stomach. He was so close to her, she started trembling uncontrollably. They stayed like that, silent and still for a few moments. She felt the muscles in his back tighten and he stood. She looked at him with wide eyes, but he kept his gaze down.

"Don't leave with him." He said quietly. He turned to walk away.

"Sandor don't!" Sansa begged. "Please, don't leave me again."

She was sure he heard her, and yet, he left. Closing her chamber door behind him.

Sansa heard a noise behind her and saw Shae peering out of the curtains by her balcony.

"Forgive me my lady, I was not spying." She walked to Sansa, holding her dagger. "I didn't know what to do, but I would've come out if he tried to hurt you..." Shae put her dagger back in it's sheath and looked at Sansa. "He is the man, isn't he?" She asked.

Sansa nodded and began sobbing.

"Oh my dear." Shae wrapped her arms around Sansa and they fell to the floor. She rocked her back and forth, and it reminded Sansa of something her mother used to do to comfort her.

Sandor stormed down the corridors to the stables. He had too much inside of him that needed to come out. He could barely breath and needed to get away from this place for a bit. He would ride Stranger through the Kingswood until darkness brought him back to the Red Keep.

As he made his way to the stables he saw one of the young lads outside playing with a wooden sword.

"What are you doing boy?" He rasped.

"Practising." The boy said. Sandor could see his eyes were red from crying.

"Practising, aye?"

"Aye." The boy replied.

"For?"

The boy stopped swishing his wooden sword and looked up at Sandor. "For the battle, ser. The stags will be here by the morrow."

"And how do you know this?"

"The dwarf, ser. By order of the King, all boys over seven are to fight, and the dwarf gave all the younger ones these wooden swords to practise with. He said they're coming tomorrow."

"Do you have wax in your ears? Are you certain he said tomorrow?" Sandor asked.

"Yes, ser." The boy answered. "Will you help me practise?"

Bugger the ride with Stranger, Sandor thought. He turned and made his way back into the castle to find Tyrion. He would be in one of two places. His study, or Baelish's whorehouse.

Sandor tried the study first, wanting to avoid as much contact with Littlefinger as possible, or he's sure he'd gut him as soon as he opened his mouth. Luckily for him, and Littlefinger, Tyrion was in his study.

Bronn opened the door.

"Let me in halfwit." Sandor growled.

"Well that's not very nice." Bronn smirked.

"I'm in no mood. Let me in or I'll slice your tongue out and feed it to my horse for dinner. He's tired of oats."

Bronn stepped to the side and allowed Sandor to enter.

"Tomorrow?" He barked.

Tyrion looked up from his book. It was almost as big as him.

"If I am correct in my math, yes Clegane. Tomorrow."

Sandor took a few breaths before barging out of the room. He had much to do.


	10. Chapter 10

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. :) p.s. I made a tumblr(finally). Feel free to talk to me there. I'd love to chat with all of you about san/san and other wonderful things that make my heart sing. /celticwanderer

"You can't say a word." Sansa cried into Shae's chest. She lifted her head and looked up into Shae's concerned eyes.

"Please, Shae. Promise me you won't say anything."

"I promise, my lady." She comforted."I don't think anyone would believe me if I did." She joked, trying to get a laugh out of Sansa. It worked, but only momentarily.

"Oh, Shae" Sansa sighed, lifting herself from Shae's lap. She sat as straight as a lady could as the floor. "What am I to do?"

"Nothing, my lady." Shae said, sternly. "The only thing you need to focus on is getting out." She narrowed her eyes.

"I am." Sansa whispered. Collecting herself, Sansa wiped her tears and caught her breath. She stood, straightening her dress. Shae followed her lead, and Sansa lifted her chin, trying desperately to find what little strength she had left. "With Lord Baelish."

Shae made a face. "My lady, he is-"

"My only hope." Sansa stated plainly. "He is taking me to my Aunt Lysa in the Eerie."

"Not to your lady mother?"

"He said it is too dangerous." Sansa said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself. "It will be safer for me there, until my mother and Robb win the war."

"I suppose anywhere is better than here..." Shae said with a tinge of sadness. She opened her arms and embraced Sansa. "Do you have a bag?" She asked, letting go.

Sansa looked around her chamber, trying to remember. "No. They took my bags when I first came here."

"Not to worry, child. I'll get you one. It will be small though."

"Thank you." Sansa smiled. "You have been a true friend. Mayhaps when this war is over, my family can send for you. You will be most welcome in Winterfell."

"I'd like that my lady, but I fear we'll both be old women by the time this war is over."Shae Let out a small smile and bowed before leaving the chambers.

Sansa repeated her words in her mind. We'll both be old women by the time this war is over... After everything that had happened, it was hard not to believe those words, but her father taught her that it is easy to let go of hope, but never to let go of all of it.

Sandor slammed the door to his bed chamber. He looked around his bare room. Nothing but an old stained bed, a small wooden table with one chair, for he had broken the other two in drunken rages, and a dresser. He walked over to the dresser and opened its drawers. One had a few clean tunics, which he threw over his shoulder onto his bed. The next had a pair of brown britches, he threw those onto his bed as well. He searched the other drawers, they were full of useless things from a life he did not wish to remember. He opened the last drawer, the one he had been avoiding for he knew all to well what was inside. He opened it slowly and the leather bound book came into view. Stitched onto the cover in gold was a fair maiden, hair cascading down her back, handing a crown of flowers to a wounded knight whom laid beside her underneath a tree. With careful hands, Sandor lifted the book and blew the dust that had settled on top. He went to his bed and sat down on the edge. The book creaked as he opened it, for he rarely did. A small, flat, purple flower laid on the aging front page. Sandor let his index finger roam the petals, now hardened by time. A piece broke off and fell to the floor and he retracted his hand immediately. He flipped through the rest of the book and stopped at the very last page. He read and re read the words written on the back cover. "To my dear granddaughter, may you one day find the happiness that lives in these pages." Sandor closed the book, holding onto the one possession he had to remember his sister.

After packing his clothes, and book in a satchel, Sandor stuffed the bag under his bed and headed to the kitchens for food...and wine.

As he walked through the corridor, and down the stairs, he tried to think of what he would need. Bread, that could last them a good while, and it was light in weight. Meat, it would go bad quick, but at least it would make the first few nights in the forest an easier transition. Some sort of fruit for long rides during the day, whatever went he could feed to Stranger. And wine. Even if he was carrying more weight than he or his warhorse could handle, there would always be room for wine.

Luckily, Sandor frequented the kitchens more often than not, so it was no surprise to the cooks when he came storming into the room demanding food. He could eat enough for three men, and from what he saw, the little bird ate much like a little bird, so the amount given to him was perfect.

"More wine." Sandor commanded. One of the young kitchen wenches rushed to the cellars with out question. The others kept their eyes on their work, not wanting to be the next target of Sandor's wrath.

One of the plump cooks bent over, her large derrière jiggled as she took the tray from the over and set in on the flour covered table in the center of the room. The sweet lemomy aroma filled the air.

"Are those lemon cakes?" Sandor asked.

The plump woman looked at him, taken aback by his soft tone.

"Yes, ser. They are."

Sandor was not much for sweet pastries, custards, or fruit filled desserts. He preferred salted meats, potatoes and ale. He had noticed that when ever lemon cakes were presented during dessert, the Little bird's face lit up and she always took more than one.

"I'll take four of those." He said, nodding to the fluffy lemon cakes.

"I'm afraid they're for-" The cook started.

"I said I'll take four." He straightened his back and stood tall and intimidating. "Don't make me ask again." He spat.

The cook lowered her head, and quickly wrapped four hot lemon cakes in a cloth napkin. The younger kitchen maid rushed back in the room and handed Sandor two flagons of wine. It wasn't enough, but he didn't have time for any more of their nonsense. He was sure Joffrey would be looking for him soom, and needed to finish his preparations before the sun went down, for their would be guards everywhere. After the cook wrapped the bread, and meat in napkins,

Sandor made his way back to his room. He shoved the food into the sack under his bed, and took a swig from one of the flagons before stuffing them in with the rest of his belongings. The sour red burned it's way down his throat, warming his chest. He always kept his weapons on his person. His sword which had slain countless men, and three daggers. He had to get this bag to his black warhorse, Stranger without anyone noticing. He knew the young stable lads to be nosey, but they looked as if they were going to wet themselves every time Sandor came by, which eased his mind.

Then, I have to tell the Littlebird...he thought. After dinner, when he walked her to her chamber, he would tell her to gather her belongings and they would leave in the dead of night. It will work, he convinced himself. She will say yes...

An abrupt knock on his door filled him with rage. His room was the one place in where he could do as he pleased, and he hated being bothered there. In three easy strides, Sandor opened his creaky door.

"Clegane..." Littlefinger smiled. He wore his usual grey long wrap with a belt tied around his slim waist.

"What do you want?" Sandor hissed. He stepped out of his room and shut the door behind him, not wanting Littlefinger to see his belongings. Sandor looked on either side of the corridor, and to his surprise, the guards Littlefinger usually armed himself with were not there. "Came here all by yourself like a big boy, aye?" Sandor mocked.

Petyr ignored his remark. His smile unnerved Sandor. "Out with it, I don't have all day."

"I came here with a peace offering." Littlefinger tosses a large sack to Sandor. He caught it with ease, the unmistakable sound of coins jingled in his hands.

"Peace-" Sandor roared a mighty laugh. "What the buggering hells are you talking about?"

"I will be leaving tomorrow, and wish to part on good terms with you, incase we meet again. I have heard whispers, of a mountain that moves in the North..."

Sandor's entire body tensed up. Gregor? He hadn't heard any news about his brother since they last fought at the tourney for Eddard Stark. He tried not to let his face give away his thoughts, but when it came to Gregor, a rage that could not be contained boiled inside of him. "What does that have to do with me?" Sandor asked.

"I want to be certain that if I come across Gregor Clegane in my travels, I can send for you to see that he does not harm what I hold dear." He licked his lips. "I know that you would find great pleasure in doing so."

A strange feeling went down Sandor's spine. What he holds most dear? He already knew Petyr had plans to leave with Sansa, and though he was tempted to grab him by the neck and say the only person leaving with the little bird was him, he would let him keep on thinking that.

"Where in the North are you headed?"

"That isn't important yet."

"Aye, I think it is. I don't like the cold, so if you plan on wanting my help, I'll have to know how far North. I assume you're taking the girl to Winterfell?" Sandor asked, playing his game.

Petyr stood quietly for a moment. His eyes bore into Sandor's, calculating his next move. "No, it is not safe for her Winterfell while her mother and brother are still fighting."

"Funny, I would've thought you'd love to be the one to take her to Catelyn Stark." Sandor raised an eye brow.

"You need not worry, Clegane. She will be returned to her mother eventually."

"That still doesn't answer my question, you cunt. Where are you taking her?"

The gleam in Petyr's eyes told Sandor he was amused by his question. "Come now, there is no need to get upset. When we leave, there will still be plenty of young redheads for you to force yourself onto."

That was it. In seconds, Sandor's large hand was around Petyr's neck, and his back was against the cold stone wall. "I never forced myself on the girl, and I'll be damned if I let you lay one slimy hand on her." The thunderous steps of three guards ran to the feuding duo, pointing their weapons at Sandor. He let out a low chuckle. "Too scared to fight your own battles?" Sandor released Petyr, who fell to the floor, gasping for air. He looked pathetic. It was no wonder Catelyn chose Eddard over him, he thought, but chose not to say it. It wouldn't do him any good, and as much as Sandor wanted to throw the sack of gold coins at him, he would need it for the long journey ahead.

One of the guards knelt down, offering Petyr a hand, but he denied it. He stood and straightened his belt. "You're already damned." He said with a scratchy voice. He turned, his long wrap cutting the air, and he walked away, followed by his three guards. It took every ounce of self control Sandor had not to throw one of his daggers into the back of his skull.

He slammed the door to his room and looked out the window. The sun was beginning to fall, and he pushed the anger out of his mind. He grabbed his bag, taking one last look around his room, making sure he was not missing anything. He was never much for material possessions, and besides his sister's book, he did not own anything that held sentiment.

Whenever he saw inside the Littlebird's chambers, he was amazed at how much "stuff" she had. He supposed it was different for ladies. They were held to a higher standard of looking a certain way. They needed the gowns, perfumes, powders, and soaps, but not Sansa. He recalled the morning she had her first moon blood. Yes, her eyes were red from crying, but he thought she looked more beautiful than ever. In her simple blue dress, her hair in a long braid that fell down her back, with pieces coming out of the front. She even smelled good. The oils she wore always drove him mad, but he recognized the way she smelled that morning as something natural. Something completely her. He hoped she wouldn't stay too attached to her possessions, as she would need to travel light. He knew she liked all those pretty things, but she was smarter than the other highborn ladies, and he knew with the promise of seeing her family, she would gladly leave every last dress and jewel behind.

As Sandor walked through the muddy path that led to the stables, the clanking of swords filled the air. Countless men were practicing for the battle. Fools, he thought, they decide to get familiar with a sword the day before battle? He practiced at least four times a week to keep fit and ready. He had to, he was part of the Kingsguard. He watched the two men practising closest to him, it must have been a father and son, they were years apart, but had the same face.

"Keep a firm stance!" He yelled. The two stop what they wee doing and looked at Sandor. Idiots. "You need to keep a firm stance, stop prancing around like a pony, you'll get knocked off your feet. Do you know how difficult it is to stand back up in full armor, with a sword and shield while another man tries to cut your head off?" He yelled.

"What an inspiring speech." A familiar voice sang from behind.

Sandor turned around and saw Bronn standing there, hands on his hips. Sandor growled and continued on to the stables.

Sansa stepped out of the bath and wrapped her ivory silk robe around her. She took her time washing herself with the lavender scented soap. The robe clung to her wet skin. She left wet footprints behind as she walked to her vanity. She untied the string that kept her robe closed and examined her body. The bruises from the riots were fading, and she was almost the same creamy white shade everywhere again. Her eyes roamed over the swells of her breasts. They had grown and fallen a bit from the weight. Her hips had widened, now that she was ready to have children. She looked more like a woman each day. She was started to become less embarrassed of seeing her naked body.

Her eyes went down to the red patch of hair that covered the unexplored part of her. Absentmindedly, she wondered what it would be like if he touched her there. Sandor...she whispered. Would she ever feel his hands on her? Gods, why was she thinking such things during a time of war? She wrapped her robe tightly around herself and sat on the chair in front of her mirror. She started brushing out her long curls

Dressed in another deep emerald gown, and hair styled in a Southern updo, Sansa pointed to the things she felt she would need for her journey home, and Shae put them in the medium sized bag she found.

There was a soft at the door and they froze. "My lady?" A muffled voice called from the other side.

"Hide it!" Sansa whispered, waving her arms around wildly.

Shae looked around with the bag in her arms, deciding on the balcony. She ran through the curtains and set the bag down behind a large pot before running back inside, catching her breath, and opening the chamber door. Bronn stood on the other side, and bowed to Sansa.

"My lady." He smiled. His eyes went to Shae. "Nice to see you again so soon." Sansa's handmaiden was not amused at his words. "May I?" Bronn asked.

"Please." Sansa extended her arm, inviting Bronn inside.

"Thank you." He stepped inside. "Might I speak to the lady privately?" He looked over his shoulder at Shae. "Surely you understand the importance of...discretion." He winked.

Shae looked at Sansa, seeing if she was alright with it. Sansa nodded, and Shae left the chamber, not before glaring at Bronn.

"Need I ask?" Sansa raised her eyebrows.

"It would be best not to." Bronn smiled.

Sansa stood uncomfortably, her hands clasped together. "What can I do for you, ser?"

"It is not what you can do for me, but I for you." He stepped closer. "I am not sure if you have been told the news, but Stannis's army is expected to arrive on the morrow."

Sansa's eyes widened. "Tomorrow?" She breathed. She suddenly felt very light headed. She thought she had more time. Another few days at least.

"Yes, my lady." Bronn started. "I was sent here by Tyrion, we want to know if there is anything you need?" He asked.

"Tyrion sent you?" Sansa did not know what he knew. It frightened her.

"You need not worry. He wants to make sure you return home safely. He knows of Joffrey's plan for you if the battle does not go in his favor, and wants to make sure you are gone."

Sansa believed Bronn. Tyrion had shown her nothing but kindness, but still, it was hard to trust that anyone in this place wished for her well being. She thought she had found that person in Sandor, but realized it was her, and her alone who had to keep herself safe. The first step was getting out of King's Landing. The next would be to rid her self of Lord Baelish. "I thank you for your concern, ser, but I do not need anything. You can tell Tyrion I will be safe and far from this place when Stannis comes."

"That is good to hear, my lady. And I am very glad to see you are leaving with the right person."

Sansa furrowed her brows quizzically. Bronn had warned her against leaving with Lord Baelish, what had changed his mind. Her expression gave her confusion away.

"I saw him heading to the stables with arms full of bags." Bronn said.

This confused Sansa even more. Lord Baelish never went to the stables, let alone carried his own bags. He would be much more discreet in doing so. "Who is it you speak of?" She asked.

Now it was Bronn's turn to looked confused. "The Hound, my lady."

Sansa's heart dropped to her stomach. What was he doing? Was he leaving with out her?

"You say he had bags with him?" Sansa put her hand to her pounding heart "Like he was leaving?"

"Yes." He answered, sensing her anxiety. "I assumed you were leaving together. I-"

"No, I am not leaving with him, ser. I would appreciate your silence in this matter."

"Of course, my lady. I did not mean to offend you."

"You didn't. And I hope I do not offend you if I ask you to leave." Sansa said coldly, looking at the floor. Bronn bowed and turned to walk away. "Bronn..." He turned back around and Sansa rushed to him, pulling him into a hug. "I will pray for your safety in battle." She whispered. The let go of their embrace, smiling at each other. He bowed and walked out the door, parting as odd friends.

Shae came back in. "I won't ask if you won't.' Sansa smiled and nodded. Shae returned to the balcony to fetch the bag of Sansa's belongings. Sansa took the private moment to regain her composure. It was not her business if Sandor was leaving, or whatever it was he was doing. He did not care for her, she had misread their interactions like the foolish girl he said she was.

She was a lone wolf.

Once Sandor successfully tied his belongings to Stranger's saddle, he was stopped by Ser Meryn Trant, relaying orders from Joffrey. He wanted Sandor to oversee the men practicing in the courtyard, and help them if need be. With a gruff, Sandor obliged, not wanting to raise suspicions.

He spent the remaining hours of daylight watching and yelling at the men. Some were capable fighters, the young ones had energy, the older ones had skill. Mayhaps the Lannister army was not completely hopeless. He had heard about the great size of Stannis's army, and the Red Woman by his side whispering the words of the blasted fire God into his ear, maddening the Stag King.

There was to be a grand feast that night, and after the long day of plotting and training, Sandor was looking forward to a well deserved meal. The thought of a nice chicken leg made his mouth water. He was so hungry, he was sure he could easily eat every fucking chicken in the great dining hall.

As he made his way to her chamber, nerves built up in his stomach. The last time they spoke, he demanded a song from her and told her not to leave with Littlefinger. He could barely look at her, but he did not remember seeing anger in her eyes when he did. Only sadness. A look she wore often. He hoped she would hear him out. She had begged him to take her away from this place, so why should he be nervous? He was coming to her with good news.

He steadied his beating heart and knocked on her door. The raven haired handmaiden opened it. "Yes?"

"I'm here to take the Lady Sansa to dinner." He rasped.

"She left earlier, by the hand of Lord Baelish." Shae informed.

Rage boiled inside Sandor. He turned away and started walking to the dining hall. Shae ran after him and grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. Tyrion's whore was brave. "Keep him away from her." She commanded.

Sandor glared at her, and for a moment, Shae was frightened he was going to hit her. "I will." He swore, before he tore down the hall.

The great dining hall was a merry place to the naked eye. Candles hung from the ceiling, giving off a warm golden hue, more so than usual. A band played joyful tunes in the corner of the room. Men drank and clanked their ales together, ladies who dressed up for the affair hid themselves with their delicate fans, trying to decide which member of the Kingsgaurd to give their handkerchief to.

These were the types of events Sansa used to romanticize in her head. She knew nothing of war and the finality of death, so only payed mind to the sweet gestures of a last dance, and token of luck before the men went off to fight. It all seemed so trivial now. Why celebrate when there was sure to be bloodshed tomorrow?

She avoided the long table to the right of where the royals sat, for Lord Baelish's eyes had been burning through her all night. It made her feel incredibly uncomfortable, so she kept her focus on the long table to the left that sat the Kingsgaurd. It was impossible not to notice that towering presence that was missing from the festivities. Sandor. Where was he? She thought. She was surprised when it was Lord Baelish, and not him who escorted her to dinner. Mayhaps Bronn was right, he really did leave me... She forced the thoughts out of her mind, knowing if she started to weep Joffrey would relish in her tears.

Joffrey raised a hand and the band immediately seized in their song. The chatter died down and the brat King stood. "It gives me great pleasure to join all of you on the night before battle." He started. His shrill voice gave Sansa goose pimples. "I am proud to fight valiantly along side all of you tomorrow," He raised his glass. "As we slaughter the Stags!" A loud cheer erupted in the room, almost making the walls shake. Men screamed and banged on tables like wild beasts. Joffrey laughed at the sight. "And soon, I feel we will-" The large doors to the great hall opened, interrupting Joffrey's speech. All eyes watched as Sandor Clegane emerged. Sansa's heart felt like it was going to explode. Gods, he's still here. She wasn't sure how much more her heart could take. "Where have you been, dog?" Joffrey asked.

Sandor stopped right in front of the royal table. "Beg pardon, my king, I was seeing to it all the men have the weaponry they will need for tomorrow so that we are well prepared." He answered.

Joffrey snapped his fingers. "See to it that my dog is well feed, and has plenty to drink." Joffrey smiled and shoed Sandor away. He gave a small bow to the King, and a short glance at Sansa before taking his seat with the other Kingsgaurd.

"Where was I?" Joffrey tapped his finger to his chin. "Ah yes! And soon, after we slaughter the Stags. " Another loud eruption of cheering echoed through the hall, igniting Joffrey's blood lust. "We will kill every last wolf in the Seven Kingdoms!" He yelled, raising his goblet. The other men followed suit.

"All hail King Joffrey!" One shouted.

"All hail King Joffrey!" The others repeated in unison.

Sansa reluctantly took her goblet and drank to her betrothed. The liquid burning her throat. The band continued playing, and the chatter grew once again.

"I trust you are nothing like your traitor father, and will be ready for tomorrow as well?" Joffrey hissed at Sansa.

"Yes, your grace. I long for the day we marry so that I may call myself a Baratheon and be associated with the Stark name no more." She lied.

Joffrey scoffed at her words and went back to his meal. The night went on. Through out the feast, Sansa found herself continuously staring at Sandor. He ate ravenously. Probably preparing for whereever he was going, she thought.

Her eyes went to one of the Kingsguard who stood and walked over to a young lady with hair so blonde it was almost while. He extended a hand, and she blushed before taking it. He brought her to the center of the room and they began dancing to the lively tune the band played. The looked at each other happily as he spun her around the center of the room, and Sansa couldn't helo but to smile.

"Excuse you." Someone said quietly next to Sandor. He looked to his left and saw Bronn, making himself comfortable between him and the knight he nudged away.

"What do you want?" Sandor growled.

"Where are you going?" Bronn asked in a hushed tone.

"What's it to you?" Sandor took a large gulp of ale.

"I saw your bags today by the stables."

He felt Sandor's dagger pointed at his stomach. "Say anything and I'll-"

"Oh shut it." Bronn interrupted. "I'm not going to say anything. I already know everything that's...going on." He looked around, everyone seemed to be distracted by the dancing and loud music. "I thought you were leaving with Sansa." He whispered.

"What changed your thought?" Sandor asked.

"She said she is leaving, but not with you."

"I know, you sodding cunt. I'm going to tell her tonight."

"Well I suggest you hurry, because she thinks you're leaving with out her."

Sandor turned his body to Bronn. "And why does she think that?" He asked knowingly.

"I-Well, I thought when I saw you with those bags that-"

"Gods, you fool."

"Who will dance with my lady?" Joffrey's loud voice boomed through out the hall.

Sansa admired the way the girl's dresses flew out as the knight spun her around.

"Do you like that?" Joffrey asked. Sansa turned to him and realized he must have been staring at her.

"Yes, your grace. They dance beautifully." She mused.

"If I remember correctly, you love dancing."

"I do..."

"Who will dance with my lady?" Joffrey stood.

Sansa froze. The room silenced and the men looked at their King. "Oh come now, my lady wants to dance, surely you won't make her look more foolish than she already is." The men snickered.

"Joffrey, please. I do not wish to dance." Sansa pleaded.

Joffrey slapped her across her face. He cheek burned red. "You will do as I say!" He extended his hand, and she reluctantly took it. He led her to the center of the room where the other couple was dancing. They proceeded to sit back down. "No don't be silly, you shall dance too. Everyone will dance!" He shouted. "The question is, who will dance with my lady? I do not feel like dancing and I don't wish for her to suffer because of me."

Ser Meryn Trant stood. "I will, if my King wishes."

Joffrey smiled. "Excellent." Joffrey smiled, he turned to Sansa and whispered in her ear. "You and Ser Meryn will be getting to know each other very well."

As Ser Meryn approached her with mischievous eyess, he was pushed to the side by Sandor. "Bugger off." He snapped at him.

"Dog?" Joffrey laughed. "You dance? Oh this is too good. Very well." Joffrey handed Sansa off to the Hound and walked back to his seat. "Everyone up, this is to be a night of celebration! Dance!"

The men and women in the room all stood, finding their desired partners. The band picked back up where they left off.

Sansa swallowed hard and placed a hand on Sandor's shoulders. She was tall for a lady, but still, her height was nothing compared to his. He placed one hand on her waist, and the other around hers. His touch sent fire through her body, and she almost lost her breath. He took notice. "You're alright now Littlebird, you're alright" He said under the music. The couples around them spun in circles, and Sandor and Sansa started to dance.


	11. Chapter 11

AUTHOR'S NOTE-

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! A lot of you have been talking to me on tumblr and I'd love it if more of you did. It makes my day, and the sansa fandom is amazing!

/celticwanderer

Awful, clumsy, dreadful, were just a few of the words Sansa would use to describe Sandor's dancing. He moved like a bear trying to balance on its hind legs. Sansa almost laughed at the thought, but stopped herself. He was kind enough to once again, save her from the hands of Ser Meryn, she didn't want to show gratitude by embarrassing him. The other dancers noticed Sandor...struggeling, but none dared mock him, for they knew he would cut their eyes out before they could say "sorry."

As the violins, cellos, and flutes made their crescendo, the other men lifted their women into the air in unison. Sandor and Sansa stayed in their slow spin. Sansa was nervous to look into Sandor's eyes, for the feeling of his large hand wrapped around hers, and the other on her waist was making her dizzy, and the spinning was not helping. I am dancing with Sandor, she thought. It was only months ago she fantasized about doing this with a handsome boyish knight, like the one from her stories. With golden curls, soft features, loved by all, and a voice that could open the heavens. Now, that daydream did nothing for her. She no longer craved a boy, but a man. A man with rugged features, stubble on his chin that turned to longer, thicker hair on his chest. A man who's body was not slim and slightly toned, but hardened and shaped from battle. A man who was not loved by all, but loved by one. She closed her eyes, and imagined it was just them dancing. The chatter in the room disappeared, and all she could hear was the music. In her mind, they were in Winterfell, dancing at a party in honor of her safe return. They would drink wine, laugh, and later, when everyone else had gone to bed, Sansa would sneak out of her room and go to his. She would knock on his door, and he would open it, sleepily. She would thank him again, for bringing her home and place a gentle kiss on his scarred lips. Gods, Sansa, this must stop! Kissing The Hound? That thought would have once frightened her, and now it danced around in her mind like the stars when she had too much to drink. He is leaving with out you. He does not care...

She tried to focus on something else, but when she opened her eyes, they met those of she saw Lord Baelish, who was watching her intently. She looked down immediately and inhaled sharply.

"What is it girl?" Sandor asked, his voice barely audible over the music. Sansa ignored his question. "Not going to speak to me, eh?"

His words hurt. The last time they spoke, she sang to him, and he clutched at her waist like he would die if he let go. It was much too confusing.m"Why should I?" She finally looked up at him. The candle lit chandelier above them created a soft glow around his face, and just as she feared, being so close to him, inhaling his earthy scent, filled her body with the same urge she felt the night they were alone in her chamber. She bit her bottom lip hard, trying to focus on the pain instead. Sandor gave her a quizzical look. "Someone told me they saw you by the stables with bags in your arms." She spat. "You're leaving and it's not with me." She tried to pull her hand away, but before she could slip her fingers out of her, he squeezed her hand.

The song came to an end, and as everyone turned to the band and applauded, Sandor whispered. "We'll talk later," never breaking his gaze from the band. Before Sansa could protest, the applause subsided and he bowed to her, before walking away. Sansa had to stop herself from staring, and went back to her seat as well.

"Sansa." Cersei cooed. "Come here Little Dove." She looked at the seat next to her, occupied by Tyrion. He reached for the decanter and took his time filling his goblet with wine, before sliding out of his chair, and offering it to Sansa.

She smiled at him in thanks and sat down. The guard behind her pushed the chair closer to the long wooden table.

"How are you feeling?" Cersei smiled at her, as if she was truly trying to bond.

"I'm, well, I'm nervous, your grace." Sansa admitted, but not for the reasons Cersei thought.

"Why is that?" She asked, looking deeper into her eyes, trying to find whatever secrets she could. All Sansa had to do was think about her dead father to keep her eyes from giving anything away but sadness.

"I'm tired of seeing bloodshed."

"Let the men kill each other. Eventually, women will be all that's left." Cersei giggled. It was obvious she was drunker than usual.

"We would hold all the power." Sansa tried her best to play her game. It was hopefully the last time she would have to talk to the lioness, she did not want to upset her and provoke her cruelties.

"We already do Little Dove." Cersei moved her lips to Sansa's ear. "Between our legs." She whispered. Sansa blushed red. "Oh come now. You've bleed, you are ready to please a man and have his children. There is no need to be shy about it."

"You're right, your grace."

Cersei smirked at her, looking her up and down. "Surely you've had...thoughts." She raised her perfectly arched brow.

Sansa's throat went dry. She could not deny, she did have thoughts. She let thoughts of kissing in the darkness lull her to sleep many nights, but they had not gone further than that. What Cersei spoke of was reserved for marriage. Some ladies might be alright with having affairs, but Sansa was not. She wanted to be with one man and one man only, her husband. But as she recalled her late night daydreams, it was not Joffrey she imagined doing those things with. "Sometimes, you don't even need a man." She cooed. Sansa's eyes widened "Have you ever tried to pleasure yourself, Little Dove?" She asked, taking a delicate sip of wine. "No, you wouldn't, would you? You're too bloody perfect." She laughed. "Not to worry, you'll know soon enough."

"Yes your grace. Joffrey is my one true love. I hope to give him a son as soon as we-"

"You really are foolish, aren't you?" Cersei spat. "Joffrey isn't interested in you anymore. His affections lie with a golden rose. I'm talking about him."

Sansa followed Cersei's stare which led to Sandor. Oh Gods, she knows? Her heart raced, she will have him killed. Her only friend in Kings Landing.

"Yes, you and Ser Meryn will be getting very familiar." She sneered. Ser Meryn? Sansa looked behind Sandor, and saw the man she spoke of. She had already experienced his hand. He slapped her the day Joffrey forced her to look at her dear father's head on a spike, and she felt the side of his steel as he stripped her on Joffrey's command in the throne room. Cersei's words would have troubled her, but knowing she would be escaping tomorrow calmed her nerves.

I will never see any of these people again, she thought. Her eyes went to Sandor, who was concentrating of the edge of his goblet as his fingers grazed over it. Never again.

"Dear sister, might I have my seat back? My food is getting cold, and I fear Sansa's is as well." Tyrion interrupted.

"Move Sansa's food over here then." Cersei sneered.

"No, don't go to the trouble, Lord Tyrion." Sansa stood, taking the opportunity to rid herself of Cersei's unwanted company. She bowed to Cersei, then turned to bow to Tyrion, who gave her a wink.

When she took her seat next to Joffrey, he was busying himself by throwing grapes at Ser Davos, his fool, who was flailing his limbs about. Sansa began eating her potatoes. Tyrion was right, they were cold, but still, they tasted fine. She was not about to complain when she was given more food than she could ever eat, and the poor people in the lower city nothing. She wondered how long it would be before she ate on her journey to her Aunt Lysa. There was no doubt in her mind Lord Baelish was not one to sleep on the ground. They would make stops at inns, and she would have everything she needed. The thought of traveling from inn to inn with Lord Baelish put a frightening thought in her mind though. I'm sure I would have my own room...she hoped, I will be sure to lock the door and sleep with a dagger under my pillow. She decided later she would ask Shae to show her how to defend herself. Oh Shae. What a good friend she's been. So many emotions and thoughts were rushing through Sansa all at once. The tragedy of her time in King's Landing made her latch on to those who have shown her even the smallest kindnesses, and she didn't feel ready to let go. Oddly enough, the person she was most sad to part with was the one she feared when she first arrived. But he's leaving too. Most likely to find his brother.

Lord Baelish had told her the sad tale of the Hound and his brother. She knew he lusted after the chance to kill him, and Sansa couldn't say she blamed him. What he did was unforgivable, and he has to relive the horror of that night every time someone stares at his burns.

She regretted the times she starred in horror when they first met. Even when she was used to his lurking company, she found it hard to look at his face. It wasn't until one night, she was walking alone in the halls of the Red Keep. She turned a corner and he was there. She backed away from him in fear, but he was too quick. He grabbed her and held her against a cold stone wall. She could not bring herself to look at him, and in return he yelled "Look at me!" His voice terrified her, causing her body to tremble, but there was something in his voice as he yelled those words at her, she noticed. Something sad, as if it's something he wanted to yell to everyone when they looked away from him. Ever since that night, she made a point to look him in the eyes without fear, and eventually, the fear went away, and she could not imagine Sandor Clegane with out the burns.

Sandor downed his goblet of wine, then reached for Bronn's. He knew better than to protest, so he watched silently, with his usual smirk, as Sandor took his goblet and drank a few large gulps.

Sandor stared into the little bit of red liquid that was left. So this is what she saw when she looked up at me, he thought. You sure are a right ugly dog. He cursed himself. Only a fool with a face like this would think a true beauty like Sansa Stark would have any sort of interest in him. The only experience Sandor had with woman were those he payed to fuck from behind. He found no pleasure in it, just a welcome distraction, another way to take out his rage. He saw the disgust in their eyes as he picked which one he wanted. Besides that, Sandor hadn't even had a conversation with a woman unless he was yelling at her. Therefore, if a woman did look at him lovingly, he would be blind to it. He did not know what love or affection looked like. He did not know what to make of Sansa's affections towards him, or his own feelings about her. Why he was willing to go to so much trouble for a girl, when he had spent his entire life only caring about himself, he did not know. One thing he knew for certain. He was bullied as a child, in the harshest of ways, and had no one to care for him or offer him help, and now, as he witnessed Sansa suffering under the hands of all those around her, he refused to stand by for one more moment and not help her. If we;re all going to rot in the ground one day, might as well make your sorry life count for something.

"What's wrong, Hound?" Meryn interrupted Sandor's thoughts. He sat directly across from him. "Sad the dance is over?" His question received laughs from the men that sat around them.

Sandor didn't pay him any attention. He had no respect for the man. Not even enough to look at him.

"I was bitter when you stole my dance at first, I was looking forward to getting my hands on the wolf girl. But then I remembered I'll get to do far more than dance with the her come tomorrow." He laughed, and clinked goblets with his followers.

"Pray you don't get your throat sliced first." Bronn took his goblet back, raised it to Ser Meryn, and drank. "That would be a pity." He wuiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"Watch your tongue." Meryn threatened.

"Or what?" Bronn smiled. "Are you going to fight me?" Bronn leaned in closer. "I reckon you wouldn't do so well seeing as your only experience in combat has been with poor young girls."

Sandor laughed under his breath. Meryn lunged over the table at Bronn, but Sandor caught him by the collar of his shirt before he reached him. "Save your energy for tomorrow." Sandor rasped. He shoved Trant back in his seat. "You'll need it."

Sandor stood and started walking to the doors. He could feel rage boiling inside of him and needed air. He would kill Trant if he ever tried to touch the Littlebird. And he would enjoy watching the life leave his eyes.

"Clegane."

Sandor stopped short. Littlefinger stood in front of him with that same mischievous smile he always wore. Sandor clenched his jaw. What did this sodding cunt want?

"I wanted to...apologize, for our little tift earlier this afternoon." The insincere apology looked like it pained Littlefinger to say.

"I don't care, get out of my way." Sandor started walking, but Littlefinger put his hand on his chest, stopping him. Sandor grabbed his wrist and threw it back at him. "Don't lay one slimy finger on me."

Littlefinger subtly looked around, making sure no one saw. "I still think it is in your best interest to part with me on good terms."

"If I choose to kill Gregor, I'll be able to find him on my own."

"Have you so far?"

"I don't need, or want your help."

"No, but like I said, it is I who may want yours in the future." He said in a hushed tone. "I need to make sure my precious cargo is well taken care of, for it may help win the war."

"My mind has not changed. I will not help you use that girl more than she already has been."

Littlefinger was not satisfied with his reply. "Very well..." He started. "When I do hear of your brother's whereabouts, I will see to it he is well payed in exchange for guarding the key to the North."

Though Sandor knew Sansa would not be traveling with Littlefinger, that thought sent him over the edge. It was one thing for Sansa to be tortured by the lions, but Gregor? Unwanted thoughts flashed through Sandor's mind, and in his blind fury, he grabbed Littlefinger by the neck.

Gasps and yells filled the room, but Sandor did not hear them. He watched Littlefinger's beady eyes roll back. Someone grabbed his arm, but they could not tear him away. More men came, pulling at Sandor and Littlefinger, trying to part them. Eventually when Sandor came to, he let go, and Littlefinger fell back. For the second time that day, Sandor watched as he sat on the floor, gasping for air.

As the panic died down, Joffrey's laughter was the only sound in the room. He stood clapping. "Good show, dog!" He shouted. "I see The Hound is the only one who knows how to celebrate properly." Joffrey looked around the room, and others started to clap following his lead. "Unfortunately, I must send you to bed. You've obviously had too much to drink and we'll need you tomorrow."

"Aye." Sandor bowed to Joffrey, and gave one last threatening look to Littlefinger before leaving the dining hall.

As he stormed down the corridor, he decided to take his time to double check Stranger, and make sure everything was set. He would go to the Littlebird's chamber when everyone else went to bed, and they would leave. Don't get soft now. She'll say yes. He assured himself. If the Littlebird ever felt like praying to her bloody Gods, now would be a good time.

"Thank you." Sansa said softly to the server who set down an assorted fruit plate with custard in front of her. It wasn't lemon cakes, but still, it looked delicious. She pierced a strawberry with her fork, and lightly dipped it into the custard. Gods, she thought as she chewed, this is wonderful.

"What are you smiling about?" Joffrey asked, his tone laced with malice.

Sansa swallowed before answering. "The dessert is most acceptable this evening my lord." She smiled.

"Hmm, yes." Joffrey popped a grape in his mouth. "It must be nice, to be so easily pleased by something as meaningless as fruit."

"I only wish war and death pleased me as much as it does you. I am envious of your happiness." Sansa fired back.

"You will learn to let it please you, for you will be seeing a lot of it." He hissed. "I will make you."

Sansa dipped another strawberry in the custard. "I look forward to it."

Joffrey swung his arm, and Sansa thought he was going to strike her, but instead he hit her plate, sending it spinning to the floor, shattering as it landed. "My lady did not like her dessert!" He announced to the room. "Ser Meryn. Escort her to bed."

Ser Meryn stood, and stumbled a bit on his way to the door, thanks to the wine. "Yes, your grace."

Sansa stood and bowed. "Good night your grace."

Joffrey waved her away in disgust. Sansa made her way to the doors, avoiding Ser Meryn's stare as he waited for her.

"Bronn!" She heard Tyrion call.

"Aye." He ran over to him.

"Go to my study please, I require...a book." He said oddly.

"A book? Now?" Bronn asked.

Silence passed between the men before Bronn understood. "Of course." He bowed and followed Sansa and Ser Meryn out the door.

Sansa walked as quickly as her attire would allow, not wanting to spend another moment in the private company of Ser Meryn.

"What's the hurry my lady?" He mocked.

Sansa did not answer his question, she only quickened her pace.

"Didn't your mother teach you it isn't polite to ignore someone?" He pressed.

"Her mother probably taught her not to talk to mad men." Bronn interjected.

Sansa smiled. His sing-songy voice put her at ease.

"I believe the imp's study is the other way." Ser Meryn hissed.

"That it is! But I rather fancied a walk and thought I'd take the long way."

Ser Meryn shook his head, and licked his top lip. "I certainly hope we meet tomorrow on the battlefield."

"As do I! What fun that will be!"

Sansa laughed under her breath. She admired the way Bronn was able to show no fear, he was so confident in himself and seemed as though he did not fear death. Arya would have like him, she thought. Her sister did not fear death either. I used to, Sansa thought. But that was when the world was a good place and I was with the ones I loved. Death would've taken me away from that. Now, after all that I've been through, if it comes soon, I might welcome it with open arms.

"Let me get the door for you." Ser Meryn offered. He stepped in front of Sansa and opened her chamber doors.

"Thank you, ser." She muttered, keeping her gaze on the floor.

He put his hand under her chin. "Look at me when you speak, girl."

She slapped his hand away. "Do not call me girl. I am Sansa Stark. Do not put your hands on me." She said, sternly.

He raised his hand to slap her, but Bronn interrupted. "Hit her, and I'll slit your throat."

Ser Meryn lowered his hand, but the rage inside him did not seize. "I will be seeing you tomorrow." He said to Sansa.

"Both of you." He eyed Bronn before heading back to the dining hall.

They watched as he left, his cloak swaying with each step. Once he was out of sight Bronn turned to her.

"Thank you, ser." She said.

Bronn put his hand up. "Don't thank me, you've done enough of that now." He smiled.

Sansa nodded. "I will pray for you tomorrow, Bronn." She turned to close the door. "Good night."

"Lady Sansa."

She opened the door. "Yes?"

"He will come for you tonight."

Sansa did not need to ask who he spoke of. "But, you said he was leaving-"

"I was wrong." He admitted. "He will come for you. Make sure you are ready." He warned.

"Why are you helping me?" Sansa asked, truly touched. She was no longer used to the random kindnesses of others.

Bronn searched for an answer in his silence, but could not find one he felt good enough to give. Instead he put his hand on her shoulder. "Goodbye, Lady Stark." He smiled, and left, whistling a joyful tune.

After Sansa's hand maidens changed her into her night gown and left her chamber, Shae quickly took it off, and dressed her in a simple wool dress. She walked around the chambers, double checking Sansa had everything she needed. It reminded her of her mother. "I went in the kitchens and packed food in your bag. It's not much, but-"

"Shae." Sansa cupped her face in her hands. "Thank you." She smiled.

Shae gave in to the moment, for only for a second. "Oh." SHe bent down, lifting her dress. She unbuckled her dagger from her thigh and handed in to Sansa. "Keep this on you, all the time." She narrowed her eyes. "And do not be afraid to use it."

Sansa took Shae's gift. She took the dagger halfway out of it's sheath. She couldn't imagine using it, but agreed, if she had no other choice, she must do it. She thought of her sister for the second time that evening. Even though they were never interested in the same things, they always had a little competition with each other. If Arya could do it, I can.

"Promise me you'll use it."

"I promise." Sansa put the blade back in it's sheath, and lifted her dress. Shae helped her buckle it around her milky white thigh, comfortably, but tight.

Sansa sat in front of her mirror, and Shae brush out her long red curls.

As she styled her hair in a simply long braid going down her back, Sansa couldn't help but smile at her reflection. I'm leaving this place. Sandor is breaking me out of my golden cage.

"There." Shae finished, and met Sansa's eyes through the mirror. "Perfect."

I'm going home. Sansa smiled. Her cheeks burned, for it was the first real smile in a long time.

Satisfied with everything, Sandor tightened the last bag onto Strangers saddle, and threw a blanket over him, hiding all evidence of his long journey. "I'll be back soon." He whispered to his only friend. "You are to be on your best behavior in the company of the lady." Stranger let out a huff and stomped his front leg.

Sandor let out a deep chuckle and fed him an apple. He suddenly felt dizzy, and decided it was time to head back. The sooner they left, the better. Outside, all he could hear were his footsteps, and the rustle of a rabbit in near by bushes. Other than that, it seemed deafly quiet. Good, he thought. It will be no trouble getting the Littlebird to Stranger.

As he walked down an open grey stone corridor, he looked out one of the large windows that faced the sea. Countless catapults stood tall and ready for battle. Though he hadn't killed anyone in a while, and ached for the feeling of moving his steel through the flesh of the enemy, Sandor was certain he'd have plenty of opportunities to do that on the long journey to Winterfell. No matter who won tomorrow, Stannis, or the Baratheons, it would not be in his favor. If he stayed here, he would forever be the dog of the brat king. It was a title that gave him power, gold, and fear, but he no longer wanted those things. He did not get the same joy out of watching Joffrey torture people after Sansa Stark came to King's Landing.

Sandor turned the corner and stopped short. Littlefinger stood in front of his chamber door. For a moment, Sandor thought he saw two of him, but shook his head and his vision went back to normal.

"Come back for more?" He mocked. Littlefinger stayed silent as Sandor approached him. "Out of my way."

"Not to worry, this will only take a moment." Littlefinger smirked.

On his command, five men in armor were behind Sandor, their swords out and ready.

Sandor laughed. "You really think five men the size of string beans is a match for me?"

"I said this once, and I'll say it again." Littlefinger started. "I do not like it when people move my pieces. I've tried to reason with you, Clegane." Sandor's head started throbbing. "But you made it too difficult."

"Piss off." Sandor reached for the handle of his sword, but one of the men grabbed his arm. Sandor usually would have been able to shrug him off and snap his neck like a twig in a second, but when he tried to move his arm, it was numb.

"Feel strange?" Littlefinger asked.

A terrible feeling rushed through Sandor's veins. Poison? "You cunt! That's a cheap way to fight! How?"

"You made it surprisingly easy when you got up to dance."

Sandor tried to attack Littlefinger again, but was too weak. He stumbled back and fell to the floor. "Not to worry." Littlefinger stood over him. "It's not deadly, it's just to knock you out until morning."

Sandor wanted to kill him! He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a low growl.

"Do not try to play me, Clegane. You will never win."

He glared at Littlefinger, but blackness started to surround him, and in a moment, all was dark. All was silent.

Sansa sat on the edge of her bed. She had been waiting for hours. She knew he would wait until everyone was in their chambers, but Gods, he was taking too long.

Shae yawned and rubbed her eye. "Would you like me to put another log in the fire, my lady?" She asked. She was kind enough to stay up with Sansa, but by the look of the moon, Sansa could see morning would come soon.

"That's alright, Shae." Sansa looked down at her lap. "You should go to sleep, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure my lady? He could still be-" She started.

"He isn't coming." Sansa blurted out. Disappointment rang clear in her tone.

Even Shae didn't have any comforting words. She had the same feeling. She kissed Sansa's forehead. "As much as I hate him, the snake will take you away tomorrow. You're still leaving this place."

"I know." Sansa mumbled. I just wish it was with Sandor.

Shae left her chamber, shutting the door quietly behind her, leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts.

He's not coming...


	12. Chapter 12

After Shae left Sansa's chambers, Sansa stood on the balcony for a little while, hoping, praying he was still going to come. After she watched the moon rise up, casting a glow on the sea, she went to her door. She pressed her ear against the wood, listening for a sign of him. A heavy sign, his armor clanking as he re positioned himself, anything. Sansa was not one to give up. She had her father's stubbornness, but after hours of waiting, she decided it was time to go to sleep. She crawled into bed, still wearing her traveling dress, holding on to the last bit of hope he would still come. He never did.

She opened her eyes slowly. Early morning light streamed in through the slim opening in between her curtains. She did not sleep well, nightmares plagued her all night. Memories of the previous day crashed through her mind like a canon hitting a brick wall. Her stomach dropped, and she felt like she swallowed her heart whole. She reached for the pitcher of water by her bed and poured it into a tall glass, and drank the whole thing in a matter of seconds, coughing as she put the glass back on the golden stand.

She sat up and breathed deeply. Please, let this be the right decision. Please keep me safe on the long journey home. Please don't let Lord Baelish hurt me. She prayed to the Gods. Please, let my father's spirit protect me and the other's. She let her thoughts wandering for awhile before continuing. And please, watch over Sandor Clegane. See that he makes it out of this battle alive. Sansa finished. She took another deep breath and opened her eyes. "I am a Stark, and I can be brave." She said out loud. She would not let her fears get in the way of what she had to accomplish today.

She was not sure when they were going to make their escape, but she was packed and ready to go at a moments notice. Her handmaidens came in with tea, and drew her a bath. While Shae was styling Sansa's hair, and the other handmaiden, Raina was holding up dresses for her to choose from, there was a knock at the door.

Raina went to open it. She looked at the guest, then turned back to Sansa. "It's Lord Baelish, my lady."

Sansa looked at Shae's reflection in the vanity, and she gave a comforting smile, laced with pity. She stood, and wrapped her robe tightly around her, making sure she was decent. "Let him in."

Raina nidded and opened the door. Petyr walked in. Dressed in his knee length wrap coat, in black with grey detail. He looked Sansa in the eyes, but she felt like his eyes were roaming her entire body. She crossed her arms in front of her.

He bowed slightly. "Good morning, Lady Sansa."

"Good morning Lord Baelish." She politely repeated his greeting.

He looked at Shae and Raina. "Might I speak to Lady Sansa alone?" He asked, but it sounded more like a command.

The girls looked at Sansa for confirmation. She nodded, and they left the room. Shae took one last sorry glance at Sansa before closing the door behind her.

Sansa stood where she was, but Petyr walking closer. "You look tired, my lady. Did you not sleep?" He asked with false concern.

"I did not, Lord Baelish. I was nervous." It was not entirely untrue, but she didn't feel the need to inform him of her previous arrangements.

"You have nothing to be nervous about, sweetling." His pet name for her sent a shiver down her spine. She hated it, it was too intimate of a word for him to call her. "I would never go back on my word." A twinkle of possessiveness gleamed in his eyes. "If I say I am going to take you, then I mean it." What she supposed was meant to sound comforting did nothing but put fear into her heart.

No Sansa, be brave, she told herself. "I appreciate your persistence, Lord Baelish." She said coldly, not wanting him to think she was excited about their travels.

"You're all packed, I trust?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Good." He stepped closer to her, looking into her eyes, as if he was trying to see someone else. "You truly are growing up to be a fine lady."

"Thank you, ser." She cleared her throat, all too aware she was still only dresses in her robe.

"I imagine you are curious as to when we're leaving..." He lowered his voice.

"I am."

"I'm afraid it will not be until tonight. The chaos of the battle will help us in our escape."

Sansa's heart dropped. "We are waiting until the battle begins? But, Lord Baelish, that is when Joffrey means to-"

Petyr took Sansa's face in his cold hands. It caught her off guard and she froze. "You must trust me." He widened his eyes as if trying to manipulate her. "There are guards everywhere right now, standing still, waiting for anything that moves. During the battle, I will send for you. Cersei is sure to keep you in the high tower with her and the other ladies. You will be safe, but we must wait for the right moment." He let go of her face. "Do you trust me, sweetling?"

That name, that awful name, I hate it. "Yes." She answered. She would do anything to get back to her family. "I trust you."

With a smile that stretched his face in a way that told her he rarely did, he bowed and turned to the door. The tension of the room left with him

Shae and Raina returned. They believed her to be one of Cersei's spies, so Shae could not ask if Sansa was alright in her presence. Sansa gave Shae a smile, silently answering her concerns. As she sat back down, readying herself for Shae to finish her hair, there was another knock on the door. Raina went to answer it, and Sansa prayed it was not Lord Baelish again.

As soon as Raina opened the door, she bowed. "Your grace."

Sansa stood, and when she looked up at her guest, she met the icy stare of Cersei Lannister. "Your grace." She bowed.

Cersei wore her signature smirk and waltzed over to Sansa. Two handmaidens followed her into the room carrying something Sansa could not see.

"Litte dove, I see you're up early." As she spoke, the scent of white wine trailed off her tongue.

"Yes, your grace. It is a big day." Sansa prayed she did not see Lord Baelish leave her chambers.

"Indeed." Cersei looked her up and down. She snapped her fingers and the handmaidens rushed to her side. Sansa could now see what they were holding. An exquisite gown made of light purple silk, with dark purple velvet floral detail. The long sleeves flowed down to the knees. The neckline was shaped in a "v" and the chest was embellished with thick gold plates. It almost looked like armor. It was an exact replica of the maroon dress Cersei wore.

"It's beautiful." Sansa admired.

"You will wear it today." Cersei commanded. "Before the King and his guards go into battle, there is to be a ceremony in the throne room which you are to attend."

"Yes, your grace." Her orders worried Sansa. She did not want to be anywhere near Joffrey or Ser Meryn today, but she had no choice. You must do as she says, she calmed herself. Lord Baelish said the chaos of the battle will be your best chance. You have to trust him right now.

"You will then accompany me to the high tower." Cersei added.

Sansa nodded. "I would be happy to."

Cersei sneered at her. "Don't start your perfect words already. It's going to be a long day and it's much too early."

"I apologize, your grace." Sansa bowed, and with a snicker, Cersei and her ladies left Sansa's chamber. Sansa let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding in. Yes, she thought, it is going to be a long day indeed.

Seven buggering hells. Sandor woke up to a throbbing headache. He lifted his arm to rub his forehead but it wouldn't move. He opened his eyes, his lids weighing down heavily, and looked at his left arm.

"What the fuck!" He barked. His arms and legs were tied to his bed posts. His memory from last night was clear until after he went to check on Stranger. As it all came back to him, his fists clenched. Littlefinger. The sodding cunt poisoned me!

Enraged, Sandor let out a roar that would startle even the most ferocious of beasts, and pulled his arms until his headboard broke off the bed. He crisscrossed his forearms, and with another loud yell, the headboard broke in half on his back. He let out a breath. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He was not used to such exertion right after waking up.

He untied the rope from his wrists, and rubbed the raw skin around his wrists. A horrible feeling boiled in his stomach. He quickly bent over the bed and vomited on the floor, spitting as the last of it came out.

The little snake, he thought. He pushed himself back up and wiped his mouth. I'm going to gut him and choke him with his own insides, he fantasized as he untied the ropes from his ankles. He threw the ropes to the ground, and rubbed his forehead. The pain was worse than any long night of drinking had ever given him. Visions of dancing with the flamed haired beauty rushed through his mind, and his eyes shot open. Sansa... The Littlebird probably waited for him all night. He had to see her, to explain and figure out a way to take her away before Littlefinger does. Not before I kill him, he thought.

He bolted out of bed, and ran to his wardrobe. He opened the drawers so violently, they popped out of the dresser and fell to the floor. He changed into a fresh cream colored tunic with brown laces at the collar, and clean brown trousers. He put on his boots, and wrapped his scabbard around his waist. He thought about putting on his armor, he felt naked without it, but since he didn't want squire's helping him dress, it took awhile on his own, and he didn't have the time to waste. He walked passed the cracked mirror that hung on his wall, where he usually combed his hair over to the right side of his face, and stormed out the door.

His thunderous footsteps echoed through the corridors as he made his way to Sansa's chamber. Anger and terror swarmed inside him. Littlefinger said he was leaving today, but he didn't know when. What if he already left. What if she's gone and thinks I abandoned her? He picked up his pace, the thin hair surrounding his face flew back, revealing his scars that covered his scalp to his neck. He was a monstrous sight.

The closer he got, the more desperate he became. As he turned the last corner, he ran down the hall and banged on her door, not caring if he startled her. He waited for what felt like hours, but no one answered. When the silence became too much, he banged again, and the door swung open.

Tyrion's raven haired foreign whore opened the door, and to no surprise, did not hide her disgust from him. "What are you doing?"

"Where is she?" He breathed.

Shae crossed her arms over her waist, causing her breasts to push together. "Why do you care."

Sandor did not have time for her games. Tyrion may like it, but it made him want to ring her neck. He pushed her out of his way and forced himself into the chamber. He looked around, checked the balcony, checked everywhere. The only sign of her was the lingering scent of lavender that hung ever so sweetly in the air.

"She's not here." Shae informed.

Sandor breathed heavily, starring at the Littlebird's bed. It was at least twice the size of his. He turned to Shae, but the whore didn't back down from his burning stare. "Where?"

"Breakfast."

Sandor exhaled deeply. She's still in the castle, there's still time.

"She waited all night for you." Shae glared. "Why didn't you come?"

"You already know too much." Sandor growled. He didn't like the way this whore was speaking to him, "I'd keep your mouth shut." He started out the door, but she grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"He came to see her this morning."

"Who?"

Shae raised her eyebrows, and Sandor understood "He made me leave the room, I don't know what he said." Sandor nodded. "Get her out of here, before he does."

Her foreboding tone added to the severity of the situation. She let go of his arm and he left the Littlebird's chamber, not sire of how he was going to get her alone. He schemed as he made his way back to his chamber to get his armor, but was stopped by one of the King's guard.

"There you are, Hound." Ser Boros sang. "His grace is looking for you."

"I was just about to go to the dining hall." Sandor rasped.

"Right, I'll go with you." Ser Boros walked alongside him.

"Piss off." Sandor shoved him against the wall, and walked away, the sound of Boros cursing faded with each large stride.

Before going to face Sansa, Sandor stopped in his room to put his armor on. He decided the time spent putting it was worth spending, in case of another surprise attack from Littlefinger. He buckled the last strap of his shoulder plate and re-wrapped his scabbard around his waist. Catching his reflection in the cracked mirror, Sandor huffed. His hair was parted away from the burns, and to him, it was a hideous sight. He finger combed his hair back over his scars, though he was never completely satisfied with his appearance, it was better.

As he left his room, he hoped it was the last time he would ever do so.

The tension is the dining hall was undeniable. The royal family, the Kingsgaurd, and esteemed guests of the red keep ate in silence. All wondering if they were going to live to see tomorrow.

Sansa had no appellate, but made sure to eat every last bite of her eggs and sausage. She did not doubt there would be plenty of food on the road with Littlefinger, but she was going to take every precaution she could think of. If something happens, and I have to run from him, I must be able to survive on my own, she thought.

"Hungry?" Joffrey mocked. He wore a sapphire wrap around coat, with gold detail. She wanted to laugh, as it was almost as pretty as some of the dresses she wore, but stopped herself.

"Yes, your grace. All that dancing last night made me hungry."

"Did you like dancing with the Hound?"

His question sent caused a mixture of emotions to build inside her. She was frightened Joffrey suspected something, and she was angry, and hurt Sandor did not come for her. "His dancing was most agreeable, your grace." She answered, not wanting to provoke him.

"Agreeable?" He scoffed. "So you enjoy dancing with other men when you are betrothed to me?"

Sansa didn't answer, she prayed if she stayed quiet long enough, he would forget she was there, but he did not. It was as if the Gods didn't exist in King's Landing. Nothing she wished or hoped for ever came true.

"You're no better than a common whore." He spat. Say it.

"I'm a whore." Sansa whispered. She should be shocked by his statement, but after everything he put her through, there was nothing left that could surprise her.

"Say it to everyone." He commanded.

Sansa gripped her fork. She hated him, how could anyone get so much pleasure out of humiliating people? His overbearing stare didn't let up. Sansa took a breath and stood.

Just as she was about to say what he ordered her to, the doors of the dining hall burst open and the man who haunted her nightmares came through.

He stopped in front of Joffrey and bowed. "You were looking for me?" Sandor rasped.

Joffrey held up his hand. "One moment dog. My lady was about to say something." He slumped in his chair and looked up at Sansa with amusement.

Sansa avoided Sandor and focused straight ahead at the wall on the other side of the room. "I-" She started, her voice was shaking. Everyone looked up from their plates. "I-"

"Out with it!" Joffrey squealed.

"I'm a whore." She quickly sat back in her seat and kept her head down. She heard the gasps and chatter, and even some laughter from the other's in the room. She recognized Ser Meryn's cackle instantly.

Once Joffrey's obnoxious laughter subsided, he brought his attentions back to Sandor. "Yes, Hound. Where were you this morning?"

"I slept in. Didn't know I was needed so early."

"All the men in my service were required to meet in the throne room at sunrise to be blessed and given new armor."

"I like my armor just fine." He rasped. "And I don't need any blessing to cut a man down." Sansa admired they way Sandor spoke so freely to Joffrey. He truly does not fear death, she marveled, if only I could be so brave.

"You see!" Joffrey spoke to the men in his Kingsguard. "This is what a warrior looks like! If only all of you could command the respect my dog does." He looked back at Sandor, not realizing the irony of his words. He shewed Sandor away with the wave of his hand. "Go. Eat."

Sandor bowed and took his place at the table among the other Kingsgaurd. Sansa noticed the way Lord Baelish's eyes followed him. It made her uneasy.

Sandor was served his breakfast, and once Joffrey went back to picking at his food, Sansa worked up the courage to look at Sandor. While the men around him talked and waved their arms around, telling stories of previous battles, Sandor ate quickly and silently. When he finished, he wiped his mouth and threw his napkin on his plate, almost knocking his chair over as he stood.

"Might I be excused?" He asked.

"For what? There is work to be done, preparations to be made."

"I have to take a shit, and I oversaw the preparations yesterday. Everything's in order."

Joffrey laughed. "Well I don't want you soiling yourself on the battlefield. Go."

Sandor bowed, and the fearful guards opened the doors for him. As he left the room, he took Sansa's heart with him.

I was mistaken to let him in. To trust him. I won't let myself do that again. She swallowed hard.

When breakfast was finished, Joffrey announced all would meet in the throne room an hour before dusk for the ceremony. Everyone waited for the royal family to leave first.

"Ser Boros!" Joffrey called. "See my lady back to her chambers."

Ser Boros ran over to them and bowed. "Yes, your grace."

Joffrey grabbed Sansa and pulled her close. "Don't forget your promise to do whatever it takes to ensure our victory." He hissed in her ear.

She nodded, but had no intention of doing so. I will be long gone before that happens.

Ser Boros didn't try to make conversation on the journey back to her chamber, for which she was thankful. Sansa looked through the arched opening on the side of the corridor and saw hundreds of Baratheon soldiers sharpening their arrows, and swinging their swords at each other, practicing. Twenty men stood side by side and passed large rocks down the line, setting them down by the catapults. Some men started chanting an old battle hymn, as the song progressed, other's joined in, letting it ignite them.

"In flaming fight when man his man is facing,

And down the line ten thousand madly cheer.

When through the veins the blood goes hotly racing,

Then death forgotten loses all its fear,

But let the strife through months of anguish lengthen,

And all be silence save our lonely sigh.

Be with us, Gods, our frightened souls to strengthen

'Twas so the King taught us how to die."

They finished their song and cheered. She supposed they had to sing silly songs in order to distract themselves from the horrors that were to come. She pitied them. These poor men, who receive no respect from the King, not even food, are forced to fight and possibly die for him. The thought made her feel sick. While she cursed being born a woman at times, born only to please her husband, and give birth to his children with out a say in the matter, she would rather carry that burden than fight a bloody battle.

With Ser Boros close behind, Sansa made her way up the stairs. There were no open corridors in that part of the castle. The only light came from the torches that burned every few feet. Sansa noticed how Ser Boros's armor clanked with each step he took. Somehow, it sounded different than Sandor's. It was not comforting, but simply, just a sound.

Sansa wondered if her father and his men sang before battle to ease their racing hearts.

"Omph!" The moan tore Sansa from her thoughts. She turned and could not believe what she saw. Ser Boros was on the floor, unconscious. Above him, stood the man she least expected. Sandor Clegane.

"He's not dead." He reassured. He stepped closer to Sansa, but she backed away, and he halted. "Littlebird-"

"Don't call me that!" Sansa spat.

"Last night, I-"

"No! I do not care, nor do I want to hear what you have to say." Tears threatened to stream down her cheeks, but she held them in. The sadness in his grey eyes made her knees shake. Do not open up to him again.

"Lady Sansa, I-" He started, but Sansa would not let up.

"I said I don't want to hear you speak!" She yelled, quickly inhaling, hoping no one heard her. "You filled my heart with hope, and then ripped it out of my chest." She whispered. Her body trembled.

Sandor was not good at comforting people, he never had the desire to, but seeing the Littlebird, wounded and shaking in front of him made him want to wrap his arms around her and take her away now, killing anyone who got in his way. He brought his hand to her chin and lifted her face. She gave in to the intimate touch. Her eyes closed, and she let the tears fall. Sandor wanted to bring his thumb up to touch her full pink lips. He remembered how the curve on her waist felt under his hand last night while they danced. How her breathing quickened that night they were alone in her chamber. How she begged him to take her away. He felt her start to pull away, but he did not let go. He pushed her against the wall, his arms creating a barrier around her so she couldn't get away.

Her eyes widened, but she did not scream. "Let me go." Her voice was as soft as a warm breeze in Summer. It was maddening, he wanted her to yell at him. The delicacy of her voice meant she had given up on him. Rage filled him, and he punched the wall behind her. She did not flinch. She just looked at him with those blue innocent eyes. Those damn eyes. Their faces were so close, and they both seemed to fall under the same spell that enchanted them a few nights ago in her chamber. His eyes went to her perfect lips. Her eyes trailed across his scars, but she no longer saw the burns, only the lonely man with a heart as cold as winter.

"I was going to come last night." He rasped. "I will still take you away."

"No." She breathed.

"You'd rather leave with that snake? Do you want to know what he did to me last night?" He didn't wait for her answer. "He put poison in my drink."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"He knew I meant to take you away." He tried to get under her skin. "I still do."

Sansa was trying to wrap her head around Lord Baelish poisoning Sandor. He wouldn't do that, would he? "If he poisoned you, you would be dead."

"There are different kinds of poisons, girl. Your septa didn't teach you these things?" He attempted to joke, to ease the tension, but it didn't work. "He is a monster."

"I will travel with the foulest creature if it means getting back to my family."

Sandor didn't know what to say. For the first time since his sister and grandfather passed, he cared for someone other than himself. It took him long enough to realize it, and he sure as hell didn't know how to show it. Trying to find to right words, he barely noticed Sansa's hand on his forearm. She pushed down, lowering his arm so she could free herself from his barrier. He would not take part in imprisoning her anymore, so he let her go.

He watched as she slowly walked away from him, but stopped and turned back around. Her eyes never leaving the floor.

"I will pray for your safety tonight." She promised. Her voice cracked, but she never gave in to the tears. She walked back to him and grabbed his hand, stuffing something inside before leaving.

The train of her dress was the last thing he saw as she disappeared inside her chambers, locking the door behind her. He opened his hand and saw she gave him a white handkerchief with a small drop of dried blood. It was the one he used to wipe her lip after Ser Meryn hit her. He wanted to kick the door down and grab her under his arm. That's a good way to get you both killed. Littlefinger is sure to escape during battle, he thought. He's smart, he knows that'll be the best time to do it. Sandor had until then to come up with a plan.

He stuffed the handkerchief in his breastplate, and turned back the way he came, and headed to the stables. He had to feed Stranger, and make sure his belongings weren't discovered. He passed Ser Boros, still on the floor, and walked down the stairs. Down the long open corridor he went. He could hear the men's harmonious songs as they continued their work. Sandor growled and stuck his head out of the arched opening. "If you sodding cunts don't shut up, I'll make sure I slit all your throats before any of Stannis' scum!" The men looked up at him, and stopped their singing.

Sandor spit, and watched it land on the ground beside the men, before he continued down the hall. He turned a corner and saw the man who's throat he really wanted to slit.

"Hello, Clegane." Littlefinger greeted. "Feeling better?" He asked smugly.

Nothing could calm to rage that boiled inside Sandor. He unsheathed one of his daggers and ran to him. Ten guards came out of nowhere and rushed between the enemies. Sandor broke the neck of the first man, and stabbed the second one, but as the guards started to surround him, it was too much for Sandor. It took four men to hold his arms behind his back and keep him still. A fifth man held a knife to his throat. Sandor head butted him and he fell to the ground.

"If you don't let me go, I'm going to rape all your wives while you watch, then kill you!" He threatened the guards who held him.

"They've all been payed handsomely for their help, and silence in this matter." Littlefinger's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Your empty threats won't save you. I'm afraid we shall not meet again, for as you know, I'm leaving tonight. I will be sure to give our mutual friend your regards." He smiled. "Take him to the dungeon. I'll inform the King he was trying to escape with his tail between his legs."

"You fucking coward!" Sandor barked, trying to break free of the guards hold. They forcefully pushed him, making their way to the dungeon. As Sandor passed Littlefinger he spat in his face. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

Littlefinger delicately wiped the saliva from his face, and smiled. "Good bye, Clegane."

He watched Sandor try to break free of the guards as they took him down to the dungeon.


	13. Chapter 13

Sansa stood on the balcony of her chamber. Looking down below, she could see soldiers, dressed in Lannister red and gold proudly walking around, checking catapults, stocking weapons, making sure everything was in order. The cloud of forboding strayed over Kings Landing, and all could sense the storm that was coming.

Sansa fidgeted with her fingers, telling herself over and over she made the right decision. Sandor let me down too many times, I couldn't say yes. I couldn't risk staying here. Her thoughts troubled her, but she did not give in to the tears. I have shed enough tears for Sandor Clegane. Closing her eyes, Sansa began to say a prayer for him. Though he mocked the her beliefs and faith in the Gods, Sansa prayed for him above all others on this night. He was a warrior, and had the scars to prove it, but he was still just a man. One that bleeds like the rest.

"Please, dear mother..." She whispered. "Watch over Sandor Clegane tonight. See to it he is not harmed. I have seen the good that lives inside of him." And she had. He saved her countless times, and made her feel less lonely during her time in the red keep. Mayhaps, one day, when I'm back home, I can see him again, and the rage inside him will have died. But that was an idea for dreamers, if there's anything Sansa learned in King's Landing, it was not to dream.

A chill in the air came over the balcony, and Sansa went back inside, crossing her arms over her chest. Since she had packed her belongings, she did not want to allow any of the hand maidens other than Shae inside, but it proved difficult on this day. They were constantly buzzing in and out of her chamber, Sansa was certain it was Cersei who ordered them to do so.

When one that she did not recognize came in asking if she needed anything, Shae had enough. "The lady is fine! I am here if she needs anything, I suggest you leave." She spat.

The handmaiden shrunk away and left the room.

Sansa couldn't help but laugh. "Gods Shae, I'm glad I'm on your good side."

Shae sat on the bed next to Sansa. "I hate this war. It's making everyone crazier than they already are."

"I know..." Sansa sighed. She didn't tell Shae about her interaction with Sandor in the halls. Shae made her thoughts on Lord Baelish clear, and Sansa didn't want her words affecting the decision she already made. She looked over at her friend and frowned when she saw the bags under her eyes, Her usually perfect complexion looked dull.

"I must thank you again for waiting up with me last night." Sansa said.

"I've had later nights." Shae winked at her. "Next time I see that man I'll-"

"Shae, don't." Sansa muttered. She put her head down. "He did his best."

"But, my lady, he-"

Sansa put her hand up. "I know." When she put her hand down, she took Shae's. "Thank you."

Shae nodded. "On a day like this, looks are least important, but you look like a Queen in that dress."

Sansa smiled. She stood and walked to her vanity, taking in her reflection. She could not deny the dress Cersei forced her to wear was beautiful. Her hair was styled in a halo braided updo, making her neck appear even longer than it already was. I look like my mother, she smiled at herself, pretending for a moment, it was her mother smiling back at her.

When the warm amber lights of sunset painted the walls of Sansa's chambers, her nerves heightened. It would be any moment now someone would escort her to the throne room for the ceremony...than the battle would begin. Gods, what madness this is, she thought. None of her books prepared her for this. They described war and battles, and it all seemed terribly exciting, but Sansa was anything but. She picked at her nails with worry.

The knock at her door broke the long silence, and she immediately stood. Shae put her fingers on the handle, and looked at Sansa one last time before opening the door.

"My lady." Bronn bowed. As he straightened, Sansa saw the solemn look in his eyes.

"Come in."

He walked in, smiling at Shae as he passed her. "I was sent to escort the Lady to the throne room."

"Shae, would you give us a moment alone please?" Sansa asked.

"Of course." She nodded. 'I'll be right outside." Her words were directed at Bronn.

When the door closed, they stood uncomfortably foe a few moments before Sansa spoke. "You look like a true knight." She complimented.

Bronn looked down at his armor. His usual brown, dirty attire was now glittering silver armor with a new chainmail shirt underneath. His long hair was combed back and tied at the nape of his neck, as to not get in his eyes during battle. "Thank you, though I don't I don't think armor suits me as well as it does you."

Sansa let out a laugh, something she thought she was now incapable of doing.

"What are you still doing here?" Bronn said in a hushed tone.

Sansa sighed and looked down. "He did not come."

"I can see that." Anger filled his eyes, and Sansa could tell he was biting his tongue.

"I am still leaving." She whispered.

"With the snake." He clenched his jaw.

"I'd rather try to avoid the bite a snake than a lion." She attempted to make him smile, but he did not. She hesitantly put her hand on his arm, and he brought his eyes up to hers. "You have shown me great kindness. I thank you." Her words were true.

"You are the only one here worth showing any to."

His words almost brought tears to her eyes. "You have kept secrets for me, and protected me, I'm afraid I must ask one more thing of you."

"Out with it." He smiled.

"I need you to watch over Sandor in the battle." She looked down. "Please."

"My lady, I imagine he will be the one protecting all of us tonight." Bronn let out a laugh, but seeing Sansa's worried expression did not soften, he added, "But I will do what I can."

A small smile grew on Sansa's face. "Thank you." She whispered.

Bronn held out his arm for her, and before he opened the door, in their last moment alone together, he added. "Don't forget, you have the sharp bite of a wolf."

His words gave her strength, and together, they walked through the corridors to the throne room. Sansa was relieved it was not Sandor who escorted her, but part of her wished it was. So she could talk to him one last time. After she left, chances are she would never see him again. He clearly had no desire to travel to Winterfell, and had his own troubles to deal with, like Gregor. Bronn stuck his elbow out so Sansa could rest her arm on his. It didn't send her heart racing when Bronn touched her, but she felt comforted all the same.

The throne room was decorated in lavish decor. It reminded Sansa of the night the Baratheon family came to Winterfell. They had taken extra time in making sure the room looked like another world. Hundreds of candles were lite and placed around the room. Red drapes with golden lions stitched into the fabric hung from the walls. The men of the small council stood to the left of the iron throne, and the men of the Kingsguard stood to the right. A group of little girls, who were clearly from the lower city, since they were covered in dirt stood in the middle of the room singing a soft hymn. It was beautiful. Sansa smiled at them as she passed by, and Bronn walked her up the stairs so she could take her place by the iron throne. Cersei, Tommen, and Tyrion, along with their guards stood with her.

The scene in front of her looked so festive, though the room was tense. For some of these men knew, it would be their last night alive. She looked at everyone one of their faces. The girl's who sang the gentle hymn, innocence spread on their joyous faces, so excited to be singing for the royal court, oblivious to what was about to happen. The small council stood with their hands nervously clasped together, concerned with the outcome of the battle, for if Stannis won, they would be stripped of their titles, or worse, killed. The Kingsgaurd stood proud and ready to fight. Joffrey had done a good job of seeing to it only the most blood thirsty men were in his guard. They looked like rabid dogs impatiently waiting to be let off their leash.

The doors burst open, and Joffrey walked in. The singing stopped, and everyone straightened as he took his place on the iron throne, escorted by Ser Meryn Trant, who gave Sansa a grin. She ignored him, and fixed her gaze on the girls, and tried to remember what it was like to be that young and carefree. How foolish she had been, wishing to be where she was now. As the room settled, and the ceremony began, Sansa couldn't help but notice someone was missing...

Sandor's armor clanked as Littlefinger's men threw him down in the cell. He immediately stood and grabbed one of the men, but the other was quick enough to leave the cell and lock the door behind him. Sandor held his dagger to the mans's throat.

"Go ahead, Clegane." Littlefinger smirked as he stepped into the torch light just outside the cell. "Kill him."

The guard struggled in Sandor's arms, but he kept a firm grip and pressed his dagger deeper into his neck.

"Kill him." Littlefinger pressed. "His will be the only life you take tonight."

"If I only take one, it'll be yours." He rasped.

Littlefinger wrapped his hand around the bars. "This is Bravvosi steel." He gave them a shake. "You're not getting out of here."

Sandor laughed at his attempted threat. He let the guard go, who cowered on the other side of the cell. Sandor walked over to the bars, feeling them with his large hands. "You're right. These are Bravoosi made bars." He looked at Littlefinger. "Cheaply made by boys who haven't grown chest hair yet."

"Joffrey will take care of you in the morning." Excitement gleamed in his beady eyes. "He likes you, so he probably won't kill you. It won't matter to me though, I'll be long gone...with your prize."

Rage filled Sandor's veins. He slammed against the bars, causing Littlefinger to back away. "I know these roads better than a woman's body. It won't be long before I find you."

"Try if you must, Clegane." He sneered. "I will be traveling with more guards than you can fight off." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Even if you do manage to find her, I will poison her mind, so that the next time she sees you, you'll be nothing but another monster from her past, and I, her hero."

"You'll never be anything more than the man who still hasn't gotten over her mother. You're not half the man Eddard Stark was. He was a fool, but not a snake. Catelyn saw that, and she'll never see anything else when she looks at you."

"You might be right. Except when I return her beloved daughter, she will have to thank me somehow, and we both know what my price will be. Your Littlebird." He smiled, knowing he was getting under Sandor's skin.

Sandor tightened his grip around the bars. "Your words will only save you for so long. Eventually, you're going to shit on enough people, no amount of guards can protect you."

Littlefinger stepped away from the bars, and straightened his long coat. "I wish you luck in the morning, Clegane, that is if you survive the night." As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, "I hear King's Landing will burn." His guards followed him, disappearing into the dark, damp corridor.

His words haunted Sandor. King's Landing will burn?" What the fuck does that mean?" As Sandor turned around, the guard in his cell scurried as far away from him as he could. Sandor stormed over to him. The guard yelped and put his hand in front of his face.

"So this is who Littlefinger arms himself with? Cowards." He spat. Littlefinger filled him with rage, that he could only get out by killing a man. He wanted to stick his blade into the guards stomach, and tear his guts out, but stopped himself. He would have plenty of time to satisfy his blood lust later. Now, he needed to be smart and figure out how to get out of the cell with out giving in to the madness. "If you want to live to see another miserable day, you're going to help me get out of here." The guard shook under his grip. Sandor brought him up to his face. "Do you hear me?"

The guard nodded. "Y-yes."

Sandor let him fall to the floor and stood. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a breath. "Tell me everything you know."

The guard sat up, still nervously shaking. "I don't know much, ser. Only that he means to leave tonight." He swallowed hard. "I was supposed to go with him, but now-"

"He left you behind, and don't ever call me ser." Sandor looked around the cell. "What else?"

"That's all I know. He payed me in gold, and promised my family would be looked after if I helped him, and that I wouldn't have to fight in the battle. That sounded good to me."

"I wouldn't say that out loud boy. Men don't take kindly to deserting cunts like you." Sandor sat on a stack on hay that was in the corner of the room. He held his dagger to the torch light, thinking. He had limited time to figure this out, and his rage was slowly turning into nerves. He suppressed those feelings. If he gave in, he would lose it.

I can't let her leave with him, even if I die in doing so, he told himself. Sandor did not fear death. If it came, he would leave this maddening place gladly, but he wouldn't feel right leaving the Littlebird in the lion's den, or a snake pit.

He squeezed the dagger in his hand, drawing blood. The temporary pain relieved him for a moment, and cleared his mind. I'm coming, Littlebird.

After Joffrey made what he thought to be an inspiring speech about slaughtering the enemy, he slumped in the throne and watched as each member of the Kingsguard was presented with a new white cloak. The girl's continued their singing, and it would've brought a tear to Sansa's eyes, but she was distracted. Where is he, she wondered. She knew he couldn't have left, but there was no where else he would be. He was Joffrey's guard, part of the Kingsguard.

"I am sad to see you are still here, my lady." Tyrion said softly.

He stood next to her, and over the choir of girls, no one else heard him. Without breaking her gaze from the Kingsguard, Sansa responded. "You need not worry. It won't be long now." She stayed silent for a few moments, contemplating of whether or not to ask Tyrion the question she so desperately wanted to know the answer to. I have nothing else to lose, she thought. "Do you know where Sandor is?"

"I was wondering the same thing, my lady." He looked around. "I will find out, and let you know if I can."

Once all members of the Kingsguard were draped with their new cloaks, the song ended, and everyone in the room applauded. "But do not wait for my answer. If you have the chance to get out, do so." He warned.

Though she did not want to leave with out knowing if Sandor was alright, she knew he was right. "Thank you for all the kindness you have shown me." She whispered, as she clapped for the girl's song.

As the applause died down, the guards opened the doors, and Lord Baelish came through. His eyes met Sansa's, causing a shiver to run down her spine. The fact that such a punctual man was late to an important ceremony, and another who should be here, but was not struck her as too much of a coincidence.

She opened her mouth, to say something to Tyrion but he spoke first.

"Yes, my lady. I believe we are thinking the same thing."

Lord Baelish took his place with the rest of the small council.

Joffrey stood from the throne, dressed in the same armor as the Kingsguard, only his was gold. Sansa thought it silly, to have such expensive armor made, when he probably wasn't even going to fight.

"You are dismissed." He waved his hands at the group of girls.

"If I may, your grace." An old septa stepped out of the crowd, and in front of the girls. "These girl's were promised safety if they left their homes to sing for you."

"Ah yes." Joffrey sneered. "A King always keeps his word. Ser Boros, see to it the girls are taken to the stables."

Ser Boros nodded and walked over to them, but the septa protested. "Your grace, the stables are not safe!"

"They're safer than out on the battlefield, which is exactly where I'll put them if you don't shut your mouth!" He yelled.

The septa bowed, and stepped back. Ser Boros's black eye did not go unnoticed. "Turn around." Joffrey commanded. "Already fighting before the battle?" Joffrey laughed.

"This was done by the hand of your dog, your grace."

"The Hound?" Joffrey looked around. "Where is he?"

Petyr stepped forward, raising his finger. "If I might interject, your grace." Joffrey nodded. Sansa's stomach turned. "On my way here, my men and I came across the Hound, trying to escape, which is why I was late. We saw to it he was taken to the dungeons."

Oh Gods, Sansa's heart raced. Like everything that came out of Petyr's mouth, she knew it was a lie.

"The Hound tried to escape?" Even Joffrey seemed like he had a hard time believing it.

"Yes, your grace, I believe his exact words were, fuck the city, fuck the King, as he tried to make a run for it. I imagine if you check his horse, you'll find he packed bags of food, water, and clothes." He finished, masking his glee with his usual intense stare. "Ser Boros, while you take them to the stables, check the Hound's horse."

Ser Boros bowed, and herded the girl's out of the throne room.

"If you are right in your accusations, I thank you for your swift justice, Lord Baelish. You shall be rewarded handsomely."

Lord Baelish bowed, and stepped back, taking his place among the small council. Sansa chanced a glance at him, and was disheartened to see he was glaring at her. She quickly looked away. She knew he had something to do with it. If Ser Boros did find anything in the stables, Sandor would be considered a deserter and killed. Knowing Joffrey, he would be tortured long before he was allowed to die.

Sansa was screaming inside. She didn't know what to do, she knew Lord Baelish was very capable of manipulation, he even did so to Joffrey, but his actions frightened her. If he was able to tame the Hound, what could he do to her?

"You may stay in here until the battle begins. Sharpen your swords, and ready your arrows men!" Joffrey yelled.

The men let out a rowdy cheer, and Sansa took the opportunity to whisper one more thing to Tyrion. "Help him."

"You must follow my mother to the high tower." Joffrey said to Sansa.

"Yes, your grace." She bowed.

He unsheathed his sword and held it out in front of her. "Do you like it?"

"It is very beautiful."

"I named it Hearteater...Kiss it." Something evil twinkled in his eyes.

Sansa reluctantly bent over and placed her lips on the blade of his sword.

"You can lick the blood off it when I return."

"Will you be fighting, your grace?" She knew it was a loaded question, but wanted to make him feel as stupid as he did her. "My brother Robb always fought on the front lines with his men."

Joffrey stepped closer, intimidating Sansa. "What a stupid thing to say. Of course I'll be fighting with my men." He put his sword back in its sheath. "And when we fight your brother's army, you can lick his blood off Hearteater too." He smiled. "If all goes well, I shall see you upon my return. If not, I'll see you on the battlefield." He went over to Ser Meryn, not giving Sansa a chance to fire back.

Good thing I won't be here, she thought to herself.

As she turned to follow Cersei, and the rest of the ladies of the high court, She looked over at Tyrion who gave her a wink. She smiled in return, hoping even if she couldn't see the Hound again, Tyrion would be able to save his life.

Cersei, who was already drunk walked ahead of her with her ladies chirping away. As Sansa followed, Lord Baelish snuck up from behind and grabbed her arm. "Lord Baelish!" She gasped.

"Quiet, sweetling. I must make this fast. I will have someone fetch your things, and get you when the time is right."

"Sandor did not try to run." She clenched her jaw and tore her arm from his grasp.

"No, he did not. He was trying to stop me from taking you out of here. He was going to get in the way of you returning to your family. He is a bad man."

"I am not a fool, Lord Baelish, and I do not forget."

"Now is not the time to start standing up for yourself, Littlebird..."

With out thinking, in the privacy of the corridor, Sansa slapped him, retracting her hand in shock at what she did.

"Do not call me that."

"Do you know what will happen if I don't take you away? You will be ruined, in front of all those men. No one will want you, no one will marry you. Joffrey will have no more use for you, so all that will be left to do is kill you. I will still take you away from this place, but know this." He stepped closer to her, grabbed a handful of her fiery hair and whispered in her ear. "I do not forget either. We have a long journey ahead of us, it's best we get along."

"Littledove?" Cersei called from down the hall. Sansa wiggled out of Lord Baelish's arms and hurried to the lioness.

The dungeons were silent. All the guards were armed and ready, waiting for Stannis' army to come. Sandor paced back and forth, and Littlefinger's guard sat in the corner biting his nails.

"Fight's going to start soon."

"If you speak again I'll cut out your tongue." Sandor threatened. The guards words caused his heart to quicken. He knew he was right. Time to escape the cell was running out if he wanted to make it to Sansa before the battle, and he didn't need any reminders. The thought of her leaving with that cunt Littlefinger made him feel sicker than when he drank too much wine. What made him feel worse was the thought of Littlefinger failing in his plan, and Sansa being raped by Trant in front of both Baratheon armies. The thoughts plagued his mind, and the only way he could release some of his frustration was to punch one of the hard stone walls in the cell.

He looked at the back of his hand, blood smeared over his knuckles. He shook out the pain. At least it's not my sword hand, he thought. He went over to the bars and slide his hand down one of them, trying to feel for a weakness.

"Bravoosi steal." He laughed to himself. The most powerful place in all the Seven Kingdoms uses steel from Bravoos to hold their prisoners? If the bars were made of Valyrian steel, they would be impossible to break, but these Bravoosi bars gave him a good chance. He rattled each of the bars, trying to judge which one felt the loosest. He knew he wasn't the first prisoner to try and escape, and was sure some of them had loosened the bars. Justice was not something one found in King's Landing. All of the prisoners before him were either left in their cells to rot, killed, or forced into slavery.

"Come here." Sandor ordered as he shook one of the bars. The nervous guard pulled himself up and walked over to Sandor, keeping his distance. "We're going to lift this bar up. As soon as you see the edge of it, pull it towards you."

"P-promise, if I help you, you won't kill me." The guard trembled.

Sandor let go of the bar, and closed the distance between him and the guard. "I don't think you're in any position to be making demands. Aye?"

The guard nodded. "Y-yes, ser-I mean, yes...sorry."

Sandor looked him up and down before gripping the bar again. "Are you going to help me, or are you going to shit yourself

first?"

The guard hurried over and knelt down, grabbing the bottom of the bar with both hands. Both men groaned as they pulled up down the bar as hard as they could. Beads of sweat formed on Sandor's forehead. It would be easier with out his armor, but he didn't dare take it off.

After a few straight minutes of lifting, the took a break. Both men breathing hard. Sandor wiped his clammy hands on his trousers. "Again." He rasped.

The guard nodded. Once their hands were on the bar, Sandor said "Now," and they lifted. Sandor's muscles started shaking and he drove the top of the pole into the ceiling. He didn't give into the relief of letting go. If the Littlebird is raped because I couldn't push for a little longer, I'm no better than my brother, he told himself, and with a loud yell, he lifted the pole with all his might.

"Just a little more!" The guard shouted over Sandor's yelling. "It's working!"

Sandor pushed the pain out of his mind, and focused on the Littlebird's face. The way her eyes looked at him with disappointment during their last encounter. He would not disappoint her again.

"Almost!" The guard shouted excitedly.

With one last back breaking lift, Sandor drove the bar into the ceiling, and the guard pulled the bottom out of it's hole, throwing it to the ground with a loud clank. Both men stood breathless.

"We did it." The guard smiled.

Before he could blink, Sandor took his dagger from its sheath and slit the guards throat. The guard writhed on the ground, looking up at Sandor.

"I'm sorry." He breathed. Sandor couldn't risk one of Littlefinger's men telling him he had escaped. The more time he had out of the cell with out Littlefinger knowing, the better.

Sandor took the guards sword, and squeezed through the bars. He started down the damp corridor of the dungeons, scattered torches on the walls lite various spots of the long hall. Through darkness and fire light, Sandor kept on. All was silent, until he heard footsteps approach from down the corridor. He turned a corner, and stood with his back pressed against the wall, and his sword ready. When the footsteps got closer, Sandor ambushed the man, knocking him against the wall, pressing his sword to his throat.

"It's me you, oaf!" The familiar voice spat. Sandor grabbed the man and brought him closer to the fire. Bronn...

"What are you doing down here?" Sandor pushed him away, and Bronn steadied himself, feeling the back of his head. He looked at his hand. "You're lucky I'm not bleeding."

"Or what, you'd kill me?" Sandor said, amused.

Bronn jingled keys in front of Sandor's face. "I came down here to get you, on Tyrion's orders."

Sandor wanted to ask how they knew he was down here, but didn't have the luxury of time. He hurried down the hall, and Bronn followed. "So no thank you, then?"

"I'll thank you when she's safe."

A loud boom echoed through the corridors. The walls shook, and pieces of stone fell from the ceiling. "What was that?" Bronn yelled over the noise.

"Stannis." Sandor said to himself. "Come on!" He yelled, and together, the ran through the dungeons.


End file.
